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Just like anarresti, they were simply busy getting things. The two women confronting him could not have been more different.
There were street musicians of every stripe, rappers clicking fast fingers and rattling heavy gold chains, old hippies with battered guitars and homemade pan pipes and permanent stoned smirks, young hippies singing solemn folk lyrics a capella, even a dixieland brass band near the great stone arch.
A thundering noise sounded from just outside the house.