He lay in darkness, like a sacrifice; he could hear the teeth of his leprosy devouring his flesh. There was a smell of contempt around him, insisting on his impotence. But his lips were bowed in a placid smile, a look of fondness, as if he had come at last to approve his disintegration.
Stephen R. DonaldsonAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 13, 1947
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What is the meaning of it Watson? What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is this long standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.
Arthur Conan Doyle