Shush, Dearest.

Shush, dearest. I’m just about to finish the marvelous but exhausting Wolf Hall. Like that unfortunate man of the British Petroleum, I do have a certain desire to put it behind me and get on with my life. I will look for that paradise thing you mentioned, but I’m also sort of inclined, due to a number of articles about Nabokov my recent neurotic cover-to-cover reading of magazines have forced me to process, to re-read Pnin.

Reading Nabokov, however, does seem to me to reguire an empty house, so I’m probably waiting for one of those.


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