Yet one more encounter with new faces, he thought, as he watched a tree and a cloud move past in slow motion, and eventually this one would also blur into the others; all that would remain distinct, perhaps, would be a few words that only he would deem significant, or an angle of a face, which in turn his mind would link with other things, some oddity of accent, or some other words confusing time and place and people to look for a pattern, some essence.
-Upamanyu Chatterjee
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