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Paul Bowles - A Distant Episode lyrics

The September sunsets were at their reddest the week the Professor decided to visit Aïn Tadouirt, which is in the warm

country. He came down out of the high, flat region in the evening by bus, with two small overnight bags full of maps, sun

lotions and medicines. Ten years ago he had been in the village for three days; long enough, however, to establish a fairly

firm friendship with a café-keeper, who had written him several times during the first year after his visit, if never since.

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“Ha**an Ramani,” the Professor said over and over, as the bus bumped downward through ever warmer layers of air. Now facing

the flaming sky in the west, and now facing the sharp mountains, the car followed the dusty trail down the canyons into air

which began to smell of other things besides the endless ozone of the heights: orange blossoms, pepper, sun-baked excrement,

burning olive oil, rotten fruit. He closed his eyes happily and lived for an instant in a purely olfactory world. The

distant past returned—what part of it, he could not decide

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