I rarely dared to write there after dark, but once in a while, gripped by the need to type a fresh version of a certain passage, I would type by candle or kerosene lamp and be treated to their [bats'] swoopings through the room.
The Chinsha was a formidable obstacle, falling from a height above sea level of some 8,200 feet at Paan or Batang on the Szechuan-Tibet border to less than 900 feet at Yipin, where it enters the Red Basin to become the Yangtze. From beginning to end, from the headwater in Chinghai to Yipin, the Chinsha River falls by an average of about eighteen feet per mile.
Most people I know skipped half of their three L classes.
But somewhere along the way gelande quaffing was lost and the aprés spirit forgotten.
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