ve ain t Olive,  ed Kalenderi dervise. tan’s grandfat because it ion and immorality, but rat of time   trust me, suspecting some ruse beo mete out my punis there.

    Butterfly landed t armor could not ood. urned to Black, old t  my armor-plated arm around Butterfly’s neck and dree struggling, nor irely playing. I recounted a similar, little-knohe Book of Kings.

    “On tation beturanian armies fully equipped in armor and  t of Mount uranians sent to to learn tity of a mysterious Persian uranian ly in ternoon sun, ced breatal singed t uranian s arroerious Persian felled turanian after catcail of eed. er Srying to escape, and grabbed aking ed , turanian, still curious about tity of terious   everybody o you,“ replied terious ell me then, my friends, who was he?”

    “tem,” said Butterfly h childlike glee.

    I kissed rayed Master Osman,” I said. “Before es out ,  find Olive, rid ourselves of t and come to an agreement so and strong against ternal enemies of art and to send us directly to dungeons of torture. Per Olive’s abandoned dervis t even one of our lot.”

    Poor Butterfly uttered not a sound. Regardless of alented, confident or ed  be, just like all illuminators e tual loat alone in to hell.

    On te to te, t above us, but it  t of t, ttime appearance of Istanbul comprised of cypress trees, leaden domes, stone s ravaged by fire aken by an unfamiliarity suc be caused by an enemy fortress. As ance  burned somewhe Bayazid Mosque.

    In t oy ing  doc