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Afternoons in Ithaka

Tsintziras, Spiridoula2014
Books, Manuscripts
I remember crusty just-baked bread, rubbed with juicy tomato flesh, swimming in a puddle of thick green olive oil. I am seven years old. I sit on a stool in my grandmother's house. It is the height of summer in a seaside village in the south of Greece. We little Aussies devour 'tomato sandwiches'...
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