I don’t know how to begin telling this story. It’s a strange and mysterious tale, almost like a ghost story. But then again I wonder if there is such a thing as ghosts of birds and animals, or of humans, for that matter. I mean, one can’t be too sure about such things. But I do know that it’s just the kind of stuff people might like to put inside autobiographical books. But let’s begin at the beginning. This incident happened a few months before I came away from Muscat. I don’t know where it came from; it seemed to have materialized out of thin air. All I know is that one moment it wasn’t there and then in the next instant there it was, perched in a rather curious and unsure sort of way on the parapet wall of...
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