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And so we are nearing the end. The right-hand,
still untasted part of the novel, which, during our delectable reading,
we would lightly feel, mechanically testing whether there were still
plenty left (and our fingers were always gladdened by the placid,
faithful thickness) has suddenly, for no reason at all, become quite
meager: a few minutes of quick reading, already downhill, and --
O horrible! The heap of cherries, whose mass had seemed to us of
such a ruddy and glossy black, had suddenly become discrete drupes:
the one over there with the scar is a little rotten, and this one has
shriveled and dired up around ts stone (and the very last one is
inevitably hard and unripe) O horrible!
Invitation to a Beheading p. 12
Such a wonderful image! Note how unexpected it is to see
the words, at the top of the second paragraph in a fairly long
(>200 pages) novel, "And so we are nearing the end." Note too, how
solid both of the metaphors are -- I at least could recognize
immediately the sensation of testing with my index finger the
remaining thickness of unread pages; and how less appealing
is a plate with a scattered few cherries, clearly picked over
by a previous snacker, than a heaping plate of choice fruit.
(I can see the plates!)
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