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Everyplace

In my travels I came to the city of Güzel Kitaplar. Every home a library, every library a home.

“What manner of place is this?” I asked.

“This place is everyplace,” the people said.

And it was. In their books were minarets and castles, dojos and bazaars, yurts and temples, and golden cities the likes of which I have never seen.

In their streets were dilapidated shacks of mud and wood.

In their pages, they ate honied quails, spiced sweetmeats of lamb and saffron dragon’s tongue. Myriad fantasies tantalized the palate.

I could find only thick gruel to nourish my body.

Dilara read to me of forbidden treasures of the body and soul I never dreamed. The words of her gilded tongue made my ears tremble.

But she gave my body not the merest quake.

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