"I won't play with you anymore. You have insulted my friend -when an opponent cursed himself for a blunder"

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It is never possible for a novelist to deny time inside the fabric of his novel: he must cling, however lightly, to the thread of his story, he must touch the interminable tapeworm, otherwise he becomes unintelligible, which, in his case, is a blunder.

— E. M. Forster