“Outside the windows the cars swept past continuously, out of town, into town, lights ablaze, radios at full throttle. ‘I wither slowly in thine arms,’ he read. ‘Here at the quiet limit of the world,’ and repeated to himself: ‘Here at the quiet limit of the world. Here at the quiet limit of the world’… as a monk will repeat a simple pregnant text, over and over again in prayer.”

EVELYN WAUGH, THE LOVED ONE: AN ANGLO-AMERICAN TRAGEDY, 1948

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