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Most of the art enthusiasts has gone by the wayside, leaving him to his thoughts in the vast corridor. The piece on the far wall drew him in. He leaned in, as close as was physically possible without brushing the tip of his nose against the paint. He examined the intricate strokes, admired how they played with the tight weave of the canvas. Then he felt the pang in his stomach. It should have been his work hanging on that wall.