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She knelt and brushed dirt away with her gloves. It was a jar—cloudy glass, sealed with old wax tape, buried right in the middle of where the firepit would go. Curious, she pried it loose. The glass was cold and heavier than expected. Inside, packed tight and folded small, were bills. Money. Dozens of them. Old twenties and fifties. Some cracked with age. Her heart started racing.
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