Liora came upon a gate standing alone in a field. No fence extended from it. No wall had ever met it. It was simply a gate, closed, upright, perfectly made.
She waited for it to respond.
She spoke to it first, then pleaded, then argued. She tried praise. She tried accusation. The gate remained closed.
Only when she stepped to one side did she notice the hinge-pin loose in the grass. The gate had never been locked. It had simply not been addressed at the right level.
When she lifted the pin, the gate fell away by itself.
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