Bookavore

voracious reader with a certain verbal attitude

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He went to bed with a rich and glorious evening, and he awoke at seven to find that it had gone bad overnight, as it were (like milk), and was in his mouth—bitter and sticky. He had been fooled. He had not, after all, had a great time: he had merely been drinking again.

Twenty Thousand Streets Under The Sky by Patrick Hamilton (NYRB), page 62.

On the off chance you are going through a breakup, I recommend this book.

Filed under patrick hamilton NYRB booze

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