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爸爸在学校上我

tion in the spade-shaped mirror.‘J▓ustine’ he said firmly, ‘I must ▓ask you not to think that I ▓am going mad or anything like that but — ▓has Balthazar ever been more than● a friend to you’ Justine ▓was placing a cigale made of gold o▓n the lobe of her left ear; she look▓ed up at him for a

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long second before answeri▓ng in the same level, equable tone: ‘No, my ●dear.’ ‘Thank you.’ Nessim stared at hi●s own reflection for a long time, boldly, comp●rehensively.Then he sighed once an▓d took from the waistcoatpocket of his dress-●clothes a little gold key, in the ▓form of an ankh.‘I simply cannot t▓hink how this came into my possession〃埊 he said, blushing deeply and h●olding it up for her to see.It was the little ▓watch-key whose loss had caused Balthazar so muc▓h concern.Justine stared at it an▓d then at her husband with a somewhat star▓tled air.‘Where was it’ she said.‘In ●my stud-box.’ Justine went on with her toil●ette at a slower pace, looking curiously at he●r husband who for his part wen▓t on studying his own features with the same d▓eliberate rational scrutiny

.‘I mu●st find a way of returning it● to him.Perhaps he dropped it at ●a meeting.But the strange thing is…●.’ He sighed again.‘I don’t remembe▓r.’ It was clear to them both that h●e had stolen it.Nessim turned on his▓ heel and said: ‘I shall wa▓it for you downstairs.’ As the door closed sof▓tly behind him Justine examined● the little key with curio

sity. ***** At t●his tim

Aliquam Risus Justo

e he had already begun to experience t●hat great cycle of historica▓l dreams which now replaced the dreams o▓f his childhood in his mind, and into which th▓e City now threw itself — as if at last it had ●found a responsive subject through which to ●express the collective desires,● the collective wishes, which informed i▓ts culture.He would wake to see the towe▓rs and minarets printed on t●he exhausted, dust-powdered ●sky, and see as if en montage on them the gian●t footprints of the historical● memory which lies behind the recollect▓ions of individual personality, it▓s mentor and guide: indeed its inve●ntor, since man is only an extension of th▓e spirit of place.These disturbed him for they▓ were not at all the dreams o▓f the night-hours.They overlapped r●eality and interrupted hi

s waking ●mind as if the memb

爸爸在学校上我

爸爸在学校上我

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爸爸在学校上我

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f his consciousness had● been suddenly torn in places▓ to admit them.Side by side with thes▓e giant constructions — Palladian gallerie●s of images drawn from his rea●ding and meditation on his own past and the c▓ity’s — there came sharper and sharper● attacks of unreasoning hatred against ▓the very Justine he had so seldom known, th▓e comforting friend and devoted lover

.The▓y were of brief duration but of● such fierceness that, rightly reg●arding them as the obverse o●f the love he felt for her, he be▓gan to fear not for her safe▓ty but for his own.He became ▓afraid of shaving in the sterile▓ white bathroom every morning.Often the ▓little barber noticed tears in the eyes of● his subject as he noiselessly spread● the white apron over him.But while the ga▓llery of historical dreams held the foregr▓ound of his mind the figures of his friends ▓and acquaintances, palpable and re▓al, walked backwards and forwards among t●hem, among the ruins of classical ●Alexandria, inhabiting an amazi▓ng historical space-time as living● personages.Laboriously, like● an actuary’s clerk he recorded all he saw an▓d felt in his diaries, ordering the impassi▓ve Selim to type them out.He saw the Mou▓seion, for example, with its ▓sulky, heavily-subsidized artists● working to a me

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爸爸在学校上我

ntal fashion-●plate of its founders: and later among the so●litaries and wise men the phil●osopher), patiently wishing the wor●ld into a special private state use

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