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Sometimes stories are not more than a sand grain that strained in one oyster. Somebody must lower to the bottom if it wants his prize. This is a "necklace of tales", if it is allowed us, where every piece links a survivor with several assassins, birds and fairies with saurian and cactus, writers who begin with the others who went by, humbugs with fugitive, grasshopper, jugglers and finally pursuers of paradises. All of them sons of isolations there above, in the attic.
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