Comrade Glass Eye had understood. “Our friend is not only a fine calligrapher,” the man whispered, “but an escape artist of the highest rank. Where does a person hide in the desert? It’s like a fish trying to hide in a tree!” He stopped to turn away, lifting his hands to his face. He said, from behind this shelter, “I’ve seen men leave this world midway through a sentence. If I tell you what we lived through, would you believe me?” His hands descended. “If I told you that, all through the bitter winter, we lived inside caves, what would you say? That good men, educated and honest men, had to
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