Pomegranate Soup – Marsha Mehran

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“Monday would prove to be much more rewarding. Not only did Dervla spot a light beaming through the cracks in the newspapered windows of the old Delmonico pastry shop but her sharpened ears detected murmuring voices coming from behind its red door. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but it didn’t sound like English, that was for sure. Italian, more than likely. No doubt a version of Latin the Pope himself wouldn’t have approved of.”
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