A hundred and sixty pages into it and nothing has happened.
Well, his mother put him to bed.
He ate a madeleine dipped in “decoction of lime flowers.”
Leonie passed away.
All that subordination makes you feel as though an entirely different part of your brain is doing the reading.
Different from the part used when you read something like this, I mean.
Has anyone ever checked that, empirically?
Beautiful writing about absolutely nothing in the most unutterably boring detail.
No chance I'll finish this.
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