Herbert Quain. "The Secret Mirror".
(Non-existent novel by Jorge Luis Borges)
Despite the fact that this was long ago, it was despicable and cowardly.He moved roughly, my tender feelings for him, he crushed and destroyed them. No. I do not forgive him. No.
Waiting – shaggy, with a red, powerful movement, but to the taste with the same inapplicable bitterness from rapidly dripping minutes.So pull myself together, pull myself together so as not to be distracted when we stand up to the barrier, aim for the head, for the head ... don't dare to be afraid!
Everything was calm and slow-moving, but then suddenly he appears.
He and flashes, flashes inside, they do not shine, but it's good, from them, simply wonderful.
Do you understand?
He spoke to me, talked and talked and everything rushed and glimpsed.
And this, in spite of his prosperity, and our plight, boring.
I do not know, do not know, and already dirty thoughts have crept in, perhaps I ... no, for now I'll leave all as is.