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the shirts 'had changed to a color milder than white'. (The cerements, again.)

So Mleville slapped at God. He could not help playing the infidel: he is one of hte most delvingly sacrilegious writers who has ever existed. For him, metaphysics could not stop like a day-trip at some calm watering-place. Dialectic was always an elastic solitude stretching into the desert. [...]

Or perhaps this is just my fear projected onto him. When I was a teenager, I used to think that Philip Larkin’s line about how life is first boredom, then fear, was right about boredom (those Sundays) and wrong about fear. What’s so fearful about life? Now, at forty-seven, I think it should be th…