The Golden Echoes
Thessaloniki in the autumn of 1913 was a city of iron and dust, where the trams groaned over the cobblestones and the smell of burning coal hung heavy in the air like a second skin. The university stood on the hill, a white block of modernity that seemed to look down with disdain upon the old, crumbling quarters below, and I stood at the foot of the seventy-one of the Tannery Steps, my boots...
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