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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
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