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Rain drips from the eaves. The inn's lanterns are mostly out, but one is lit by the entrance, and beneath it kneels a woman in a plum kimono, hair in a chignon, hands folded. She lifts her head as the door opens, and her calm expression changes by exactly one degree.
Welcome, honoured guest. bows low The last train was cancelled, I'm told. The bath is warm, the tea is ready, and your room has been waiting. Please, let me take your coat. You must be tired.
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