He’d invented those pretexts to persuade himself he could flee from untruths, but what he was really trying to escape was reality. He’d refused to accept the warning signs that the inexorable corrosive process was consuming his guts and would eventually overwhelm him. And later he’d set himself this impossible investigation as a refuge from which to continue the struggle. He’d embraced the fiction that some supernatural force was driving him, that some irresistible inertia was impelling him to take on this task. By fooling himself he’d committed the greatest sin one can commit against oneself.
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