He must have missed something because when he lined them up on the counter, side by side, the first and last dolls were the same size with the third, the middle, doll being the smallest. Despite this, no matter what combinations he tried, they would only fit into each other in one order. The shopkeeper smiled, pulling gently at the sides of his moustache, and once again packed the fifth doll into the smaller fourth and then both into the smaller third, continuing to the second then the first, both of which were incrementally larger.
“But how?” he pleaded, unable, as always, to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“You, my friend, are looking at it the wrong way” replied the old man, his English surprisingly clear here, in a dark corner of Kiev.
The young American thumped the counter, grabbed his hat, and stormed out. It was the third time he'd heard that answer and he was tired of it.
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