"Sí, and who might be asking?" The voice is frail and brittle. "Gabriela sent me," I explain."Gabriela who?" the nose wants to know. "Gabriela from the juice parlour." "Never heard of her." "She told me you were friends with Gabriela Mistral. Would you have five minutes to talk?" Slowly, the door slides open, revealing the nose to be attached to a short old lady in a woven dress and slippers.
from Financial Times: In search of poetry in Chile
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