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Posted by on December 24, 2007, 4:47 pm
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diary.
A twinge of fear went through him. It had been a sufficiently rash act
to buy the book in the beginning, and he had sworn never to come near the
place again. And yet the instant that he allowed his thoughts to wander,
his feet had brought him back here of their own accord. It was precisely
against suicidal impulses of this kind that he had hoped to guard himself
by opening the diary. At the same time he noticed that although it was
nearly twenty-one hours the shop was still open. With the feeling that he
would be less conspicuous inside than hanging about on the pavement, he
stepped through the doorway. If questioned, he could plausibly say that he
was trying to buy razor blades.
The proprietor had just lighted a hanging oil lamp which gave off an
unclean but friendly smell. He was a man of perhaps sixty, frail and bowed,
with a long, benevolent nose, and mild eyes distorted by thick spectacles.
His hair was almost white, but his eyebrows were bushy and still black. His
spectacles, his gentle, fussy movements, and the
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