The waiter and the black man turned to look at us. The men, who were extremely pale, nodded their heads in unison, as if to signal assent. I was momentarily under the strange impression that those men, the pair of them, were one of the possible incarnations of pity. I wondered if Madame Reynaud might know them.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Monsieur Pain - pg. 5
Labels: Roberto Bolaño
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