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332 pages, Paperback
First published January 8, 2009
Outside the last rays of the sun warmed the youth in his hiding place. Rather I should say, warmed me; for I remember the cool stone on my back, and the crisp sweetness of the stolen fruit as I bit into its flesh. I must confess that I was that pale thief -- yes, I was young once, however strange that seems now. I find it hard to believe myself. Yet how many of us, as we look back to our past, really recognize ourselves in those callow, distant adolescents whose decisions have set the course of our lives?
You may be cross with me, perhaps, and feel that I have deceived you. You may ask, how could I have known the names of the costermonger, of the boy and his father, and of the singing girl, let alone their innermost thoughts? I could not, of course; and I did not. But what I say is true, nonetheless. I am al-Rawiya, the Teller of Tales.