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First the church bells fall silent. Then the local fiestas are discreetly relocated from the streets of the old town to a scrap of scrubland on the outskirts. The prettified pensiones and cutesy cafeterías proliferate, the tills ring with a resounding ker-ch…
Matthew Clapham
Nichola Scurry
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This is so sad.
Not a data scientist. If you like my writing, I like coffee. ko-fi.com/nicscurry
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