And yet sometimes we become the person we most dread. Or maybe we dread most the person we know we are to become.
Society was the only threat to the sanctity of selfhood: an unpatroned library was an orderly library.
This was the curse of the voracious reader, she realized. Real life never quite measured up to the heightened and precise contours of her literary worlds. A real war was never as true as a fictive one.
