Yes, that part is very nice…very nice, don’t you think?
The fact that I loved him in a sick, hurt, desperate way, like a child or a dog, did not matter.
Then she sank her teeth into his hand.
What was that damned year to me?
As I was saying this and weeping in the bitter agony of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice from the nearby house chanting as if it might be a boy or a girl (I do not know which), saying and repeating over and over again, “Pick up and read, pick up and read.”
The fact that I loved him in a sick, hurt, desperate way, like a child or a dog, did not matter.
Then she sank her teeth into his hand.
What was that damned year to me?
As I was saying this and weeping in the bitter agony of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice from the nearby house chanting as if it might be a boy or a girl (I do not know which), saying and repeating over and over again, “Pick up and read, pick up and read.”
In this book the history of art has been organized in the usual way, region by region and, for the most part, also in chronological sequence, which may wrongly imply a distancing not only in time and space but in sympathy.
We need to talk about escape and deceit. On them, I’m with you always in my mind. The sound is serious, calm, simple, utterly beautiful.
That would be a good, even promising note on which to end.
I’ll go mad as a bush. It’s the loss of context we’ll all come to sooner or later. Exactly what meaning can be attached to the other histories, in which we do not exist, is not clear.
“Yes,” she whispered.
