T.C. Boyle Quotes
I Was Reading, Absorbed In An Assault On K2 By A Team Of Japanese Mountaineers, My Lungs Constricting In The Thin Burning Air, The Deadly Sting Of Wind-lashed Ice In My Face, When The Record
Le Sacre Du Printemps
Caught In The Groove With A Gnashing Squeal As If A Stageful Of Naiads, Dryads And Spandex Satyrs Had Simultaneously Gone Lame.
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