″Now that I know the truth,″ Guido said with an effort, ″how can I?″
″I'll give you some sound advice: Don't take yourself so seriously. The matter's out of your hands.
Look at it from that angle and you'll find you can carry on very nicely, as before.″
″Yes,″ Guido muttered, staring into space, ″from that angle...″ The earpiece gave a click and went dead.
Guido hung up too. He slumped forward on to the desktop and buried his face in his arms, racked with silent sobs.
From then on Guido lost every last scrap of self-respect. He abandoned his plan and carried on as before, though he felt an utter fraud.
And so he was. Once upon a time his imagination had soared along and he had blithely followed its lead, but now he was telling lies.
He was making a buffoon of himself - a public laughingstock - and he knew it.
He hated his work, and the more he hated it the sillier and more sentimental his stories became.
This didn't impair his reputation, though. On the contrary, the public acclaimed him for pioneering a new style of humour
and many comedians tried to imitate it. Guido was all the rage, not that he derived any pleasure from the fact.
He now knew who was responsible for his success. He had gained nothing and lost everything.
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