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S. B., Diary for 1642/1643. Bod. MS. 3971 (Pick) 8vo
Six Hundred Pages Later In Another City: Reykjavík
Hallway
Then she smiles slyly, almost warmly, as she fetches a little book and holds it out toward me
I set the manuscript down on the table and thought to myself it was probably the last time I’d handle the old tome
So it’s not exactly a real conversation
“Right,” he said, smirking as though he’d half expected me
Renaissance Man
I pretend to write. Then I start to write. To write off Diana
And it’s Bonný who breaks the silence, raising the question of whether this all has anything to do with the professor
Flipping through, my thumb on the fore edge. Again and again. I reckon that one out of every three times the pages fall in such a way that the book opens where my secret lies
I no longer know if I’m watching or imagining what’s in front of me
I have to admit that I don’t entirely understand where Mom is headed with these words. I’m not sure she knows, either
He lay on his side in his suit the way he would at a picnic, though I’d never seen him lying like that on the living room floor before
To my mother
For my mother
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