The Devil’s Mask by Khanh Ha

THE stable boy peered up from the saddle when the little master made a grunt in his throat. Something was coming. Out in the sun, a white-furred monkey stood looking in. After a while it waddled in like an out-of-shape old man and, once past the sun glare, and inside the cool dark, its fur looked as white as the rice flour. It usually came when the little master was in the barn.
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