“That’s a pretty figure of speech, Marcel. And doubtless it’s the sign of some nominal intelligence on your part. But have you read your own school papers lately? Give me Middlemarch, I’ll spin you off a few amorphous generalities, all qualified and deniable.” “What do you know about that book?” I asked, too quickly. It was Taylor’s book, the one he’d given his scholarly life to. The one I’d written on, analyzed for him. The novel where I’d discovered novels. The mere title in Lentz’s mouth sounded creepy, as if I’d been spied on.
