since Zorba, many things in his life had changed. Things he didn’t dare mention to anyone, because the last thing a book censor should do is admit his enemy’s virtues. They were probably just tricks, which the enemy used to tempt him. But why did bread suddenly taste as though he’d never had bread before? And why was the air so sweet and pure? Like butterflies shedding cocoons, the extraordinary emerged from hiding. The surface of his humble world was pulled back, exposing tenderness beneath.
