The Distant Temple
Act I Tunis in the dry season is a place where the wind does not blow so much as it grinds, scraping the white plaster of the medina until the stones beneath look like exposed bone, and in that abrasive light, the wind farms offshore churn the sea into a froth of grey foam that never seems to reach the shore. It is a city that knows the weight of things, where every object has a price and every...
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