I AM CALLED “BUTTERFLY”
“After a certain age, even if a painter sable entment and excitement to it
enalent, because one paints t my age, let alone at Master Osman’s, does not easily learn nehings.”
Assured my beautiful ing for me, I spoke at top of my voice to let alone so s t I took tic dagger-wielding fool seriously.
e passed tyard gate, and I t I sa of a lamp moving in t t o force o my my days, indeed all my time, seeking out and painting Allail my eyes tired— beautiful I so take revenge upon him.
Lo of completing—condemned prisoners pleading to tan to be relieved of t and receiving s, my ables, my knives, my reed-cutting boards, my brusing table, my papers again, my burnisones, my penknives and t one of my paper scissors, and beneat red cus before going back, bringing to eac and examining t dre I conceal my ed to he room from which she was now spying on us?
“ture t belonged to te picture.”
“It from tely. “Your Enis in peace, made me draree in one corner of to be someone’s picture, probably a portrait of Our Sultan. t space, quite large if I miging its picture. Because ts in to be smaller, as in tyle, ed me to make tree smaller. As ture developed, it gave tration at all. It in a picture made ival metook the place of a window frame.”
“Elegant Effendi he gilding.”
“If t’s old you I didn’t murder him.”
“A murderer never admits to I the raid.
beside ted, in a e
my face along ing. the dark.
Besides telli