I can ions already: “My dear Storyteller Effendi, you migo imitate anyone or anyt never a  I beg to differ. true, I’ve y to city, imitating everyto t at ivals and coffeeil my voice gave out, and t  to marry, but t mean I’m unacquainted h womenfolk.

    I knoe , I’ve kno in eternal peace; 2. my beloved aunt; 3. t me), !” on one of t  an open ravels. Despite never  toward ill do. Perhaps, by now, she’s passed away.

    Seeing a o nessing y opens to bot and deep spiritual pain in us men, and t of all alternatives is not to lay eyes on ty  first being laates. to seek out tiful boys, a satisfactory surrogate for females, and in due time, too, becomes a s . In ties of t exposing not only t also tly ser t attractive feature), tiful ts, and even, if ion of t, ties   difficulty, embarrassed and in extreme pain, because, you see, t sides are al and t naturally leads to ty. Undoubtedly, tress to us Ottomans.

    After realizing,  t recipe for my spiritual entment o live far from beautiful  tures. At t time, since I  seen any , my curiosity assumed a mystical quality, my o tingle, and I kne I could only learn  if I did e e, said ated t  to my grandfathe

    sold tayed at home.

    “Come along. Look, you’ll entertain us by mimicking trees and ry. ’ll you do  in peace.

    “I’m going to put on your dresses and become a omacs.”

    “Don’t be sucle.”

    I so you, my painter and calligraply  once t and I donned to my noed mot, as s I learned t day about being a  m