The Pale Tower
Act I Khadija Najjar wiped the rim of the crystal goblet with a linen cloth, her fingers moving in a steady, circular motion that had been drilled into her since she was old enough to hold a tray, while the laughter of the forty guests filled the high, vaulted room of the ancestral stone house in Tunis. The air hung with the heat of the harvest season, a dry, physical weight that pressed...
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