Letter B

The house is not this large, he thought. It is only made larger by the penumbra, the symmetry, the mirrors, the years, my ignorance, the solitude. -- Borges

I read the Unknown Masterpiece by Balzac earlier today. I am in the grips of a fever. I wasn't aware of the story until last summer when a synopsis thereof appeared in a Guardian article about Das Kapital. I decided it was then time to read some Borges.

My ague can likely trace its origins to NYC and the sadistic winds which devoured our every step. Don't mistake my verdict, we had a wonderful time, it was just the effects of extended exposure. I bought two books and read three hundred pages of Karamazov in two days, mostly in airports. I am at p. 500 just before the crime itself.