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Elias nodded, a small smile appearing behind his spectacles. He wasn't just a merchant; he was a bridge between the weaver's hands and a new family's feet. He sold them the rug for a fair price, knowing that in fifty more years, someone else would be lucky enough to find it and start the story all over again.

He had found it at a chaotic estate sale in a drafty Victorian mansion. The heirs wanted it gone, seeing only an old carpet that tripped up the grandkids. Elias, however, knew the weight of hand-knotted wool. He ran his thumb over the back, counting the knots per square inch. "1880s," he whispered, "probably woven by a family who sang to the loom." buy used oriental rugs

"It has a soul," the woman said, tracing a silken floral motif. Elias nodded, a small smile appearing behind his spectacles