A while ago on the wonderful Age of Uncertainty blog, Steerforth posted some pictures of a very strange document. I'd never seen anything like it, but one of his readers suggested that it was the work of someone with autism, which seemed a bit sad to me. What made me sadder was noticing this man on the train to Vienna (he subsequently discovered he was on the wrong train and had to get off and go back to the beginning to start his journey all over again):
and what he was busying himself with (if you can't zoom in, there are pages and pages of multi-coloured meaningless semi-writing):
He didn't seem unhappy, but there was still something strange and lonely about the thing.
Classic and Romantic, According to Santayana - The Last Bookstore of Los Angeles turned up a copy of *The Last Puritan*, where I found a vaguely remembered passage in Part V, Chapter IV. In the novel, t...
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