Sometimes he himself chooses a book from the shelves. He knows, of course, where each volume is housed and he goes to it unerringly. But sometimes he finds himself in a place where the shelves are not familiar, in a foreign bookstore for instance, and here something uncanny happens. Borges will pass his hands over the spines of the books, as if feeling his way over the rugged surface of a map in relief and, even if he does not know the territory, his skin seems to read the geography for him...

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