“Nor will I ever forget the train that took us to Marseilles, loaded, like a basket of exotic fruit, with a motley crowd of people, country girls, and sailors, with accordions and songs chorused by everyone in the coach. We were heading for the Mediterranean Sea, toward the doors of light . . . This was 1927.” (from ‘Conjieso que he vivido: Memorias’, Pablo Neruda)
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running the whole length of the horizon...