“Smell the spices in the air, and the hot wine, and the perfume of women that still hangs. Feel the cup in your hand, and the bench against your hams. Remember the sun and the taste of fresh water, and the feel of a rifle’s well oiled stock. Then suppose you were that Tibetan, and that all was cold and dark and the hand of old man God lay heavy on your nose and mouth and eyes and ears. Tell me, American, do you think of such matters?”

From the novel ‘Chinese Bandit’ by Stephen Becker

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