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17 июня 2015 г., 12:20
The town, so glorious of old and still so lovely in its decay, became to him the incarnation of his regrets. Bruges was his dead wife. His dead wife was Bruges. Both unified themselves in a parallel destiny. It was indeed Bruges la-Morte, with its abandoned stone quays woven into an idealization of melancholy by the cold arteries of the canals which had long ceased to feel the pulsation of the sea.
