The widow gave me a photograph.
It showed a man standing beside a gold statue of himself. The statue was perfect—down to the wrinkle on the left side of his forehead that he got from squinting in the sun. The real man was on the left, the gold man on the right, and they looked identical except for the color. Gold doesn't cast shadows, you know. It reflects light from everywhere at once. It looks like it's glowing from...
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