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d, cra●bbed, starred with questions and ?/p>

馻nswers in differentcoloured inks, in typescrip▓t.It seemed to me then to be▓ somehow symbolic of the very rea●lity we had shared — a palimpsest● upon which each of us had left his or her in●dividual traces, layer by layer.Must I now ●learn to see it all with new eyes▓, to accustom myself to the truths which Balt●hazar has added It is impossible to describe ●with wha

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so detailed and sometimes so brief●ly cur

t — as for example in the list he ▓had headed ‘Some Fallacies and M▓isapprehensions’ where he said coldly: ‘Num●ber 4.That Justine “loved”▓ you.She “loved”, if anyone, Purs●ewarden.“What does that mean” She● was forced to use you as a decoy in order● to protect him from the jealousy of Nessim ▓whom she had married.Pursewarden him●self did not care for her at all — suprem▓e logic of love!’ In my mind’s eye the city ro●se once more against the flat mirror of the gr▓een lake and the broken loins of sandstone which▓ marked the desert’s edge.The politics of lo●ve, the intrigues of desire, good and evil, virt●ue and caprice, love and murder, mo▓ved obscurely in the dark corners o▓f Alexandria’s streets and squares, brothels● and drawing-rooms — moved like ▓a great congress of eels in the slim▓e of

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n before I surrender▓ed the fascinating m

ound of paper with ●its comments upon my own real (inner) lif▓e and like a drunkard stumbled t●o my bed, my head aching, ech●oing with the city, the only ▓city left where every extreme ▓of race and habit can meet and mar●ry, where inner destinies intersect.I could ●hear the dry voice of my friend repeating as▓ I fell asleep: ‘How much do you care to know● … how much more do you care to know’ — ‘I ●must know everything in order to be at last▓ delivered from the city’ I▓ replied in my dream. Balthazar (1958●) Part I Chapter 2 ‘When you plu●ck a flower, the branch springs back into● place.This is not true of the heart’s af●fections’ is what Clea once said to ●Balthazar.***** And so, slowly, re●luctantly, I have been driven back to m●y starting-point, like a man who at the en▓d of a tremendous journey is told that he ▓has been sleepwalking.‘Truth’▓ said Balthazar to me once, blowin▓g his nose in an old tennis sock, ‘Trut●h is what most contradicts itself in time.’ A▓nd Pursewarden on