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The bed hadn't been made and the room was dirty. He began by lighting a
paraffin lamp; then fumbled in his pocket and produced a rather grimy bandage,
which he wrapped round his right hand. I asked him what the trouble was. He told
No, I didn't want to see the chaplain. . . . Then I did something I hadn't done for
quite a while; I fell to thinking about Marie. She hadn't written for ages; probably, I
surmised, she had grown tired of being the mistress of a man sentenced to death.
I'd acted thus, and I hadn't acted otherwise; I hadn't done x, whereas I had done y
or z. And what did that mean? That, all the time, I'd been waiting for this present
moment, for that dawn, tomorrow's or another day's, which was to justify me.
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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - AngelaJMaher - www.librarything.com
I wasn't sure what to think when I first started reading this. It initially didn't feel worthy of the fuss, but as it enters the second part, it becomes a book that makes you think. Why are some ... Read full review
LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - drardavis - www.librarything.com
Spoiler alert! Not that it matters anyway, but don’t read this review if you don’t already know how it all ends. The Stranger is a perfect book, with a flawed philosophy. Camus is a liar. If he really ... Read full review