He was a jeweler. Precision was his life. He knew just what made something beautiful tick. He also knew that expert hands controlled the face and the form, and that without these, there was nothing. The most exquisite timepiece could not function without a master.
Unlike the average shop owner, who greeted customers with humility and an ingratiating smile, he looked as if he resented intrusion. When the shop bell rang and she entered the store, he peered at her for only a moment before adjusting his thick magnifying lenses and returning to the disemboweled clock on the table, its face blank and its workings spread out on a bed of white cloth.
“Look around as you please,” he said. “If you have anything specific in mind, tell me, and you’ll leave completely satisfied, I guarantee.”
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