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Summary
“The sun’s risen.” Alexander looms above him, the high fronds and latticework of greenery like the millionfold joined arms of nymphs. His face, backlit by a bloody sunrise, is only a darkness, a rending, and his open mouth is nothing but an impression, as if Hephaestion had closed his eyes and waved his hand before himself, a swimming in that blackness. His eyelids waver, and he joins Alexander in that huge, moving dim, this other world.