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She found that beautiful bag tucked away in the corner of her favorite pawnshop, its price tag dancing in a twisted dangle and then falling still as a cranky oscillating fan rotated its head from side to side. She turned the tag so that the price was facing her and smiled at her find. It was a good price--a steal in fact. That is pride you see in her face. Yes, folded into the blistered wrinkles of her weary scute is the pride of a woman who now has something precious, an heirloom of sorts, which she may, at some point later on when her eyes no longer break the surface of water because she prefers instead to stretch along the lazy length of a sun-warmed rock, pass on to her child.