For some odd reason that I don’t know, I feel insanely quietly relaxed–as though a fever broke. The night beckons me to sit in the easy chair and read Proust. I’m toward the end of The Fugitive then I only have one more volume to go.
Ah, relaxed.
For some odd reason that I don’t know, I feel insanely quietly relaxed–as though a fever broke. The night beckons me to sit in the easy chair and read Proust. I’m toward the end of The Fugitive then I only have one more volume to go.
Ah, relaxed.
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