When he turned the key, the trunk sprang open like a brilliant cartoon. He pulled out an assortment of objects: gas masks, toys, electrical gadgets, incomprehensible computer junk, old Communist propaganda banners and an authentic cavalry sword. He drew it from its sheath just as a party of revelers in a horse-drawn wagon rode past. They cheered as he posed, brandishing his sword, the tip of its blade pointed impressively skyward.
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