You who’ve watched me all my life. My double, my enemy. You, standing on the other bank, watching. I imagined you tut-tutting at me, accusing me by your very presence. I called you a coward, but you followed me. You live on. You make me cryptic, turn me against myself.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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