The Faded Bouquet
The olive groves of the Andalusian belt stretched out in a dry, golden haze, a landscape that seemed to hold its breath beneath the relentless sun, where the air was heavy with crushed leaves and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the typewriters in the pension office echoed like the wings of trapped birds. It was a world of rigid hierarchies and quiet desperation, where the value of a man was...
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