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03.11.2025, 10:10
That evening, the house was filled with a silence, but it was not the silence of peace, but of intense mental labor. Before going to bed, Zahra peeked into the living room to wish her father goodnight. And she froze in the doorway. Her father, Ali, was sitting on the carpet, a game of solitaire laid out before him. But it was not a solitaire of playing cards. It was a solitaire of ideas. Newspaper clippings, pages from philosophical treatises, photocopies of some old magazines
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