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Just a brief note of apology. I have had an unproductive fortnight, involving stupidity (I misfiled a chapter), politics (the NAFTA [now USMCA] negotiations, Scomo [the "new" Australian PM], Brexit, and the Kavanaugh mess), and health (no details).
There will definitely be a chapter this coming week.
Sorry. I was making a (bad) allusive joke. In Stephens' "The Crock of Gold," the Philosopher returns home to have hos wife say that she hopes his oatmeal "has lumps in it." He responds: "Perfection is finality, finality is death, nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it." Secondly, at the end of Billy Wilder's "Some like it hot," Jack Lemmon tells Joe E. Brown that they can't get married because "I'm a boy!" To which Brown replies: "Well, no one's perfect."
Jack Green, Poacher's Progress.
Thanks to those of you who wrote with such alacrity.
Several years ago a number of you (readers) helped me (re)locate a story by Argon. Well, I've (again) lost a tale I was reading. This was about an Englishman in the 19th Century. He's married and his wife and offspring are killed in a fire. He remarries a Frenchwoman. The last I recall he and spouse are accompanying the (future) Queen Victoria on a Progress. So this must occupy decades up to 1837. There is no prize but my thanks.
I've just sent "Sam's Year" 10 off to be posted. The next chapter may take a bit extra. But I hope to get it done by next weekend.
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