I have the neck of my deceased daughter in a pegni bank to pay the affliction, and the antique is impallidito and has told me that she has been in possession for 20 years.

The bottom of the armor was pulled out of the scarp’s scatola. Inside, avvolta in a old sciarpa, c’era la collana che mi aveva giftato mia nonna, un gioiello che avevo custodito gelamente per oltre vent’anni.

Ora was diverse. Più Pesante. Più broth. Come se avese capito.

“My dispiace, nonna,” I whispered. «Ho solo bisogno di un po’ di tempo.»
Today I sleep very little, starting with my thoughts and hopes, searching for another solution. Ma è arrivato il morning, and with that the realtà.

The pegni bank was in the heart of the city center, a place in which people entered only when they were not outside. A bell sounded when the sun fell.

“I must sell it,” he said, appoggiating the collana on the bank.

L’uomo che aveva ideato si bloccò nell’istante when I saw it.

Il suo viso impallidì.

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