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Chapter 2: The Name They Call Me
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The car didn’t make a sound.
That was the thing Karim would remember, if he’d had time to remember anything. No screech of brakes. No horn. Just headlights filling his peripheral vision and a small boy standing frozen in the middle of Tahrir Street, five years old and completely still, the way children go still when their brain stops working and their legs forget what they’re for.
Karim Elnashar dropped his book and moved.
He was twenty-eight years old, a histor ...
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