I was not worried about a betrayal or a slip of the tongue. Peace was settling down on me, like pollen, like summer dew, because of those two men. They were two shady trees, two clear springs. Maybe it is a deception, or my memories are turning into odors, but it seems that I really did smell a freshness and a faint scent wafting from them. I do not know which, of pines, of woodland grasses, of a spring breeze, of a Bairam morning, of something dear and pure.
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