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It was four in the morning. A big gorilla looking guy lumbered into the prison exercise yard. The yard had changed little since the old days under Stalin. Morning’s first light silhouetted black mechanical shapes, and the silence was flawless. They called him Tarzan, but never to his face. He was always here first. This was his place. This was his time. This hour...
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The burning question:

فارسی or العربية

confused