Wikimedia Commons Dear Mr , It was from you I learnt that the writer’s sole success lies in ageing, that experience – the arm common to all fingering apparatuses – is everything. It’s what is me write this letter, and it will subsume this letter even as I write it, what will arraign it as a memory to be recounted 60 years to my neighbour’s grandchildren. I must make it clear why I’m this letter; I’m it because this week, I read something you had written. Well, you hadn’t exactly written it, but your name was on the . It was your presentation to the world, to me, that is, of your writers, books, and excerpts. You preambled each with your fondest words of praise, and you told me why you were giving me so-and-so to read and what good I could out for. I have never read anything like this before, and 50 pages in, I knew I would have to write you a letter, thanking you for making me restless. But before that, Mr Bond, I have a few questions, would you please them? Why you show […]

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