.Istambul, 2.45 da manhã. O ininteligÃvel vozear da turba multicolorida do Grande Bazaar, na sua azáfama mercantil, e o insistente zumbido provocado pela amálgama de apitos e motores dos veÃculos a cruzarem a ponte Galata, deram lugar à quietude. Da janela do quarto avista-se o porto e as milhe.
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