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... he grass bears leftover morning dews that cling stubbornly to the leaves. It’s not nice--why would a place be cold when the sun is shining brightly?
There--there’s a stone over there. It’s not soft, but it’s warm. Because it’s shining. I run over there, and pat the stone. Yes, it’s warm. Before my mind could tell me to, my body already laid down, and I let out a sigh.
Ahh...yes, this is how it’s supposed to be. It’s warm and nice, and I can hear the sound of trickling water, as w ...
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