Looking into the mirror
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Hesitantly, Miranda picked up the hand mirror, her irritated face staring back at her via the reflective surface. This face she looked at was growing impatient and was still deeply rooted in greed. “Where’s my money,” she spoke in a low voice so whatever made those footsteps wouldn’t hear her. Miranda was confused. She expected treasures, but all she found was the image of her face in a mirror. What did it all mean?
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