

Losing the sun (part 1/3)
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Losing the sun (part 1/3)
…..…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… and then I met, I was writing the story of, and he, who said nothing about, but all her life long, as though the horse had been killing itself for all those pale autumn days in the midst of a riverside country the sparkling stars of which were – and the poor fellow following Don Quixote did not know any word of the above language. Words, my head was full of them all, a lexicon, my mind was full of the entries the foregoing centuries had kept for themselves in case when a yellow pre-war arch would burst its walls. Some now and then, I cannot say the writer wrote but the man was forgotten in the leading path of the deep down forbidden maze. How green ! Then all of a sudden the outcast entered the room, smoking his deliberately turned down


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