Stolen beauty

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The worlds songs are the music that gives life to the people. A small, little, little, little, little girl walks up to the window. My mother left me a fortune when she died. I mean if youre a girl, I suppose it aint much, but then you dont need to know. Look, I dont have anything to give you, and Im sorry I cant let this beautiful painting be your future treasure. Im sorry, dear, but I cant keep this one. Goodbye, the girl says, and then she takes the picture and runs away. The little girl, running away from the window, runs away from all of us. But, I wonder, even if she just ran away, would it have been any worse than leaving. If only, we, could, somehow, know what it is worth. Would the world be the same, if some girl had painted the picture. They must both taste strange in this place.

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