"And that which has happened before is happening again: George GERFAUT is cruising the outer lanes of the beltway that encircles Paris. He got at the Porte D'Ivry exit. It's two thirty in the morning, or it might be three fifteen.
He's had five glasses of Four Roses bourbon.
As a chaser, he ingested, about three hours ago, a double dose of a powerful barbiturate.
Instead of making him drowny, this combination has engendered a tense euphoria that is constantly on the verge of tipping over into rage, or a vaguely Chekhovian, predominantly bitter melancholy, an emotion neither heroic nor noteworthy.
George GERFAUT is driving 90 m.p.h."
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