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The old wizened man, climbed up the ladder.
Slowly, reaching for his paint brush, he dipped it into the paint.
He gripped the brush as his age withered hands made slow but meticulous strokes, the strokes that formed a picturesque view of a large intricate piece of artwork.
The look on his face was that of a man completely immersed in his work. His pallid, sunken eyes tightened with every stroke, his lips clenched with every second. Then stopping once in a while, he would look at his creation in deep concentration and continued.



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The following comments are for "The work of the old man."
by Henriamaa





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