Many cities or countries have a distinctive malaise. They are places that could be Portugal, so sunk in a painful longing for the past, and where each tension of the present is only the tip of an iceberg explained in successive retreats that can go directly to the origin of the species, at least. This common feeling in many latitudes is often presented as a diagnosis, a denial of a painful present as opposed to the desire to return to a glorious past.
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