I was reading Lolly Willowes up at the pond, tired after yesterday's akebia purge, and level, by now, with Lolly Willowes in her early twentieth century search for a way out, I had to remind myself I was the one up at the pond thinking of going in for a swim.
A loose occasional reflection on what I'm reading, how I inhabit books and they inhabit me.
Saturday, 18 July 2026
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