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Old Man Mihai was still hale. Mounted on his motorcycle, he had enough life in him to chase away, to his last breath, any intruder who dared to come with a fishing rod to the shore of the lake. He was called Mihail, but he had won fame under the name Old Man Mihai. That was what everybody called him. This was the name everybody was afraid of. It was enough for someone to hear the weary snuffling of his motorcycle in order to take fright. This was because from all around there was no man so green as not to have coveted, at least once, Old Man Mihai’s fish...

 
In urma nu mai e nimic
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