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And they will return, the words of the sopranos of Babel. Vocal cords braided: the dialects of Africa, the murmurs of India, the moans of the Eskimos, the sobbing songs of the Cholas. The prayers of the Islams and the altos of Milan... hushing all the notes. Harmonies emerging, the immense race that suckles the seed of the sun, from the waiting. |