8 lines
517 B
Text
8 lines
517 B
Text
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn’t cope with, and that
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terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know
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you’ve taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that
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however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will
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never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique
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it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move
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relentlessly on to four o’clock, and you will enter the long dark
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teatime of the soul.
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