You Are A Total Stranger

I Keep Telling Myself I Should Try Very Hard To Write A Novel Of About 210 Pages... I Don't Seem To Be Capable Of It, But I Keep Hoping It Will Happen.

I've Read There Is No Such Thing As A Single Tear, That Old Poetic Trope. And Perhaps There Isn't, Since Hers Was Simply A Companion To My Own.

In Those Days, I Still Thoroughly Enjoyed The Romance I Called "by Myself"; I Didn't Know Yet How It Gets Lonely, Picks Up A Sharp Edge Later On That Ruins A Day Now And Then-- Ruins More Than That, If You're Not Careful.

And How Could Anyone Consent To Give Up The Smell Of Open Books, Old Or New?

He Brought His Great Hand To Rest On An Early Edition Of Bram Stoker's Novel And Smiled, But Said Nothing. Then He Moved Quietly Away Into Another Section.