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" Alone, he inches up the entrance stairs, struggles for the house key in a tight pocket, and makes it inside his flat, the dogs snuffling his trouser legs. He can’t even crouch to pat them. He stands there, cringing to recall an hour ago. So pathetic, still trying at this age, like the last middle-aged man on the dance floor. That, he decides, was my final attempt. Enough. Enough of other people. All I need is my cottage: Disappear there, stay within the borders of a canvas. That is my company. "
― Tom Rachman , The Italian Teacher