By John Banville I have a thing against Venice. In fact, I have a number of things against Venice. The avarice. The tourists. The smells. Some years ago I was strolling along one of those dim, dank alleyways near St Mark’s Square, in the company of a friend who shares my aversion to the place. Suddenly a rat scuttled past us and dived part way into a drain, leaving its long pink tail draped on the flagstones. My friend and …
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