Epigraph: The gypsy siguiriya begins with a terrible scream that divides the landscape into two ideal hemispheres.
It is the scream of dead generations, a poignant elegy for lost centuries, the pathetic evocation of love
under other moons and other winds. The melodic phrase begins to pry open the mystery of the tones and
remove the precious stone of the sob, a resonant tear on the river of the voice. No Andalusian can help
but shudder on hearing that scream. (p. 305)
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