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Rain lashed the ancient cobblestones of Quedlinburg, turning them into a thousand tiny mirrors reflecting the crooked, candy-colored facad... -
The scent hit me first: woodsmoke laced with roasting pork fat and something earthier, like damp wool and forgotten spices. It tangled wit... -
Rain lashed the grimy window of the 73 bus somewhere near St. Pancras. Not a gentle mist, mind you, but proper stair-rod rain, hammeri...
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