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Bakir grumbled in frustration. All he wanted was to go to the agora and get some apples. The ones from the islands to the south that were sweet, succulent, delicious. His mouth watered as he imagined having one right now, as he waited in line. All he wanted were the apples, for a dinner party this evening. But could he do that? No. Because the Chorus were taking up the whole street again. Their waves of colourful cloaks and bright tunics blocked the path as they followed the King in a vibrant shadow of death, moving slower than their songs.

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