A Game of Hide and Seek by Elizabeth Taylor, a middling novel for midsummer, middle of England, middle of the twentieth century, 8, Jessica Terrace, Swanford, Buckinghamshire, England, The World, The Universe, to be precise.
I finished it up at the pond today, toasted front and back. One dip. Much collection of duckweed with the net between times. All trapped tadpoles returned. A jackdaw came down to wet his wings. I can be an impatient and a loving reader. I lose track of the names of people's mothers, but I'm touched by the tiny, sordid, intimacies of hands inside coats, the teenager's gaze, the pathos of her teacher; last scenes leave an indeterminate rush of affection.
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