Just a Glazing

A sprinkling of ice has decimated work and cancelled the schools. Such much for American resilience. I switched over to Gide's The Immoralist last night, my industry of last week appeared blocked. I'd like not to find fault with Trollope. I have been thinking about pneumatic pants, as evidenced in Antic Hay, as well the phrase, "sitting on stones" which symbolized melancholy in Buddenbrooks. Mouchette's sluttish bliss occupies time with O'Brien's salutation of stout as tonic. It is a rich life.