said one of my friends of another.

This weekend I went to the Wellcome Collection and stretched my brain on the question of why any man would wish to own a large collection of torture implements.

I suppose if my wife had an affair with Somerset Maugham, I’d feel threatened too.

Maugham. Foxy.

I mean, sources indicate they possessed different interests, but I think it was his stubborn refusal to alter his ludicrous beard.

Talking of possession, I have finished the Byatt novel of the same name and am at an absolute loss as to what to read next. I almost threw it under the tube a few times but at the end was extraordinarily enamoured. I felt bereft.

Suggestions on a long-hidden love letter.

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