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“Leurs salopes sont comme les notres.”
One could treat people decently without aping them, without rolling out their carpets everywhere. He himself treated all races at St. Ann’s, and the Hippocratic oath made multiculturalism come alive, for once. But there were no grounds for aesthetic surrender. When we saw western knickknacks in their houses, we laughed at them, didn’t we? Dismal kitsch, we said to ourselves. This was no different.
For whereas an accident is no one’s fault, a lie is an individual man’s specific fault because it is deliberate. It’s a real act, something willed, and it is more difficult to forgive than anything.
