Having put aside COMING OUT UNDER FIRE, with its absolutely terrifying final chapter, I take up in the little room Erskine Childers's THE RIDDLE OF THE SANDS.
I know the feeling does not last all the way through the book, but oh the joy of reading the section called "The Letter." Buchan was yet to come, and the late James was just emerging, and here are dazzling paragraphs about being stuck at Whitehall during the dog-days, introductory paragraphs as good as anything Buchan or James ever wrote.
I know the feeling does not last all the way through the book, but oh the joy of reading the section called "The Letter." Buchan was yet to come, and the late James was just emerging, and here are dazzling paragraphs about being stuck at Whitehall during the dog-days, introductory paragraphs as good as anything Buchan or James ever wrote.
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