The Face of Perfection
The Face of Perfection By the time the notebook reached me, three weeks had passed since I first heard myself speak words I did not know I possessed. The volume arrived wrapped in brown paper, bearing no return address—only my name, inscribed in a hand I ought to have recognised but did not, at first, suspect. Inside, page after page of my own private utterances: venomous assessments of...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 2 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр