Hamlet had begun to think that Denmark was all the world, or even just Elsinore, and all the kingdoms and countries outside of it were but pleasant fantasies he’d had once long ago. And then appeared Horatio from Wittenberg, inarguably foreign, not caring for any of Elsinore’s court tricks, and he pulled him to his heart with relief. This, surely, was the man to bring a decent scholarly reality into Elsinore’s fleshy nights, to disrupt their darkness and discomfort with clarity, to push aside their heavy dust-covered velvet curtains with simple, calloused, ink-stained hands.
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Hamlet had begun to think that Denmark was all the world, or even just Elsinore, and all the kingdoms and countries outside of it were but pleasant fantasies he’d had once long ago. And then appeared Horatio from Wittenberg, inarguably foreign, not caring for any of Elsinore’s court tricks, and he pulled him to his heart with relief. This, surely, was the man to bring a decent scholarly reality into Elsinore’s fleshy nights, to disrupt their darkness and discomfort with clarity, to push aside their heavy dust-covered velvet curtains with simple, calloused, ink-stained hands.