On the way out of the building I was asked for my autograph. If I'd known who the signature hound thought I was, I would've signed appropriately.
In the traditional workshops of Surakarta, where the best quality batik tulis textiles are still created, low-paid women and girls use melted wax to meticulously hand-draw patterns before subsequent dyeings and rewaxings, […]
They gooed their hair with some fragrant styling product.
Reverently I replaced the grave-cloths, and, with a sigh that flowers so fair should, in the purpose of the Everlasting, have only bloomed to be gathered to the grave, I turned to the body on the opposite shelf, and gently unveiled it.
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