e I entered ter, I sent tle street urco Esto deliver my letter to Selling o meet me before time prayers.

    I arrived early at tisans’ en visited my Enisime worked as a cice.

    Follo elderly master binders dazed from te, master miniaturists s  even looking into tove. In a corner, I saiculously painting an ostricically embellisice graciously cnessed young students being reprimanded as t toucried to understand takes tice, ten momentarily about colors, papers and painting, stared into treet I’d just now eagerly walked down.

    e climbed taircase. e ico, udents, obviously trembling from te ting—per beating. I recalled my early youtings given to students

    s, and tinado, il they bled.

    e entered a ers,  and an but merely a largise mountains of t.

    Immediately off to ter, I saor, Master Osman, for t time in fifteen years; ion. emplated illustrating and painting during my travels, t master fit and in te ligs of ticed tled, and I introduced myself. I explained e  t I’d preferred a bureaucratic post and left. I recounted my years on time spent in Eastern cities in treasurer’s secretary. I told  Pas calligrapors in tabriz and produced books;  time in Bagiflis, and tles.

    “Aiflis!” t master said, as  t from tering t snohere now?”

    ted ters istry; ain age, lived ly,  raig e vely and t s sno simply fall to t o t onto memories as ress of tiflis, their pillows for summer.

    “Do tell me ors and painters illustrate in tries you’ve visited,”  do t