Yes, I had seen the mark of his teeth, his two rotten, yellow teeth through which he spewed Arabic verses, on my wife's cheek.

All these symbols twist onto and out from the narrator in a figurative hall of mirrors, and despite the repetitions the slightly different descriptions and imagery feels different every time.

It’s not clear to what extent this is the narrator’s psychology. Is it the wine and the opium? Is it a madness inherent in him, or did sociological forces break him? Are there actual demonic forces at work haunting people across time? Is it a schizoid Nietzschean eternal recurrence?

I don’t know, but it is a definite delight that demands to be reread.