The Art of the String
He hangs limply from his wires, limbs hanging loosely, head slightly bowed. In the dim light his strings rise upwards: stretching into the gloom and disappearing into the darkest shroud. All is still.
He hangs limply from his wires, limbs hanging loosely, head slightly bowed. In the dim light his strings rise upwards: stretching into the gloom and disappearing into the darkest shroud. All is still.
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