t  t I entered te feelings, ty of ten over years of rendering ions for Our Sultan. In an album of collected pictures I saed Persian boy ly as I  moment, and it reminded me of y belongs to Allaer from Isfaears in my eyes, I beices nourising. A tiny-footed, transparent-skinned,  and die, y of a maiden gazed o t adorable arm to demonstrate trengttac to her.

    Oddly, my  began to quicken and pound. As y years ago in my early apprentices some rat illustrations of ed maidens drayle of tabriz, beads of s accumulated on my foreing I felt and t I experienced aken my first steps toer status, I saal-skinned yout in as an apprentice candidate. For a moment, I rong feeling t painting  about melanc but about t and t it alent of ter artist t first transformed to a love of God and to a love of t; so strong  it caused me to relive atic delig over til my back ion to courting blindness tration and all ting I’d suffered and made otared long and silently at tration . Mucer I ill staring. A teardrop slid from my eye over my co my beard.

    iced t one of ticks sloing treasury ly set beside me. t tcile envy. I turned tnut and bay  could’ve been ters of —acular turned tly seated governmental official greeted me from a seventy-year-old picture; I couldn’t determine , yet the

    painting, ted man’s beard painted in various  beat quickly as I recognized tion of t  kneo my face.

    I ures dra Master Biimes before; per looked at t in a group of former masters years ago, per be certain  Bi