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9) The orchards were sweltering. Even the trees seemed to sag with exhaustion, their fruit like lead weights on their branches. A dog circled a patch of freshly dug earth under a pear tree, finally lying down, tongue a rich cranberry red, and eyes surveying the rows. Fat flies drift lazily as a baked breeze rattles the leaves. The dog rolls over onto its side, legs stretched out. It' s nearly 3:30pm.
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