" The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. . It's gin—a liquor you used to like. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood.
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