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Just a mule It was just a mule, gray, nondescript, evil-minded, yet she wept painfully as though the world had ended. Maybe it had. No mule for the plow, only a quarter of the crop would be planted. No trip to town with harvest leavings. No trade in the village then, no barter. No cloth from the women down the street. No blankets for the bitter winter. It was just a mule. Just life. |
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