A Voice in the Night

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He woke up at exactly six-thirty a.m., rested, fresh, and perfectly lucid.

He got up, went and opened the shutters, and looked outside.

Calm sea, flat as a table, and a clear sky, blue with a few small white clouds, that looked as if it had been painted by a Sunday painter and put there as decoration. A decidedly anonymous day, but he liked it precisely because of its lack of character.

-Andrea Camilleri, A Voice in the Night: An Inspector Montalbano Mystery

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