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56 The Beginning They peered at the wonders of the Orient— precarious gardens, mist around the ankles of the sacred mounts—and plopped down their gear. They applied language like a balm to the indigenous, calmly spreading it along the contours of the dangerous rivers of faith, working it between the thighs of monuments, most of which they found wondrous, possessed, portable. They left ajar the crypts of pets, threw caution to the wind, which, to locals, was a god, though that term was never used. They chiseled away the jewels of idols, dismantled their elaborate headdresses, their disdain for the living. Such work, they found, was horribly tiresome, so they drank the water, which they called miraculous, or, if they found the water possessed, damned with language. Being what it was, the water said little, and in a tongue unknown to them. ...

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