Thinking about Henry James just now—again—led me to a question: Who is the person not actually in your life who occupies more of your thoughts than any other? For me these days it may be James, though Anthony Powell is always a contender, Virginia Woolf a solid bet.
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Oh, hell. Yeah, he’s on my shortlist, too, now that you mention him.
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I met him at an in-store shortly before he died. He was a treasure.
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