My heart fluttered, knees weakening as I gazed at the tall, crimson felt-backed knife display, visible through the glass-paned door. I congratulated myself on once again overcoming what I’d come to find were the seemingly insurmountable odds of finding a knife shop in a city world famous for it’s knife production. Then, amidst near tearful revelry as I reached to slide open the rickety wooden door, I stopped short. No knob or hand-hold was to be found. A trick? An illusion?
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