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3min chapter
Saïd Sayrafiezadeh Reads Samuel Beckett
The New Yorker: Fiction
The Eye of the Zone of Stones
"Winter in her winter haunt she wanders. Far from shelter. With moon or without. We take her and halt her before it. There she too as if of stone, but black." "She is all night in vain for the least glimmer," says Nox. 'The eye glued to one or the other window has nothing but black drapes for its pains'
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