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“It was as if my soul had become one of those limestone figures on the west front of our cathedral and some restorer, incompetent at his craft, was chipping away at it with a sharp tool flaying its surface and splintering off those soft perceptive parts so that at last only a plain featureless nothing would remain.” — Ruth Rendell
It was as if my soul had become one of those limestone figures on the west front of our cathedral and some restorer, incompetent at his craft, was chipping away at it with a sharp tool flaying its surface and splintering off those soft perceptive parts so that at last only a plain featureless nothing would remain.