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The Shadow of the Wind
by: Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I knelt down by the desk and fingered the scratches that covered the wood, imagining Julian Carax's hands making those doodles, heiroglyphics whose meaning has been obscured by time. In the desk, I noticed a pile of notbooks and a vase filled with pencils and pens. I took one of the notebooks and glanced at it. Drawings and single words. Mathematical exercises. Unconnected phrases, quotes from books. Unfinished poems.