Darkness Visible – William Styron

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“In the first few months of my Wanderjahr, I had come down to Paris by train from Copenhagen, and landed at the Hotel Washington through the whimsical determination of a New York travel agent. In those days the hotel was one of the many damp, plain hosteries made for tourists, chiefly American, of very modest means who, if they were like me -colliding nervously for the first time with the French and their droll kinks-would always remember how the exotic bidet, positioned solidly in the drab bedroom, along with the toilet far down the ill-lit hallway, virtually defined the chasm between Gallic and Anglo-Saxon cultures.”
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