There was no one to be seen. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. . Our land brings us in nothing. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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