[He nods, relaxing into his seat.] I was sick of England, sick of everything. [Exhausted and in anguish about Harry, about Basil, terrified of doing exactly what Oscar writes him doing in the end.] I told Oscar that I was going to the Continent for a long while and that he could publish whatever he cared to. Brilliant as he is, he managed to convince the world it was a work of fiction, even with what it drew from the real.
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[He nods, relaxing into his seat.] I was sick of England, sick of everything. [Exhausted and in anguish about Harry, about Basil, terrified of doing exactly what Oscar writes him doing in the end.] I told Oscar that I was going to the Continent for a long while and that he could publish whatever he cared to. Brilliant as he is, he managed to convince the world it was a work of fiction, even with what it drew from the real.