The Lover
A. B. Yehoshua
1977
And then I heard the singing. Chanting, prayer, live voices, not from the transistor. It wasn’t yet light, just the first flutterings of dawn. Shivering with cold, wrapped in our blankets, wet with dew, we woke up to find three men dressed in black with side curls and beards, leaping and dancing, singing and clapping hands, like some well-trained…
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