Seven am on March 26, and there's something horribly wrong here on the island of Bali. There's the melody of morning songbirds—several different songs that make me wish I knew the difference between a ricepaddy sparrow and a chucklebird—and they sound unusually happy. Ecstatic. There's the droning of bees, a slight rustle of wind, but something's wrong---where's the sound...
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