There is a priceless moment for a letter-wounded reader that is just when he has to choose which book to read once the one he had in hand has finished. It is that moment that you try to lengthen as long as possible and in which any destination is possible, in which there is no time or distances for the journey you are about to start, in which you are standing in front of the central station watching the mysterious trains of paper puffing and you walk with a frown on the shelves full of books that water
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