Dark energy beyond the reception rooms: The Mind, Love, & Tolstoy

By Alice Miller In Commentary

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5th February, 2011
In America, I knew a man who was adored. He was a charming, stumbling poet from Georgia, who often spoke in class. He wore a blue jacket that looked like the lining of a rubbish bin, and sometimes I couldn't tell if people were laughing with him or at him. But M (as we'll call him) had a kind of power over people. Girlfriends of mine admitted crushes. One professor confessed he was worried that M was funnier than he was. Maybe even smarter, the professor said once, before shaking his head at me, as if he wished he hadn't spoken. One night, a group of us were sitting round the bar, when ...

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