No, not the Brandy
Jan 10
There are those among my reader(sic) that believe my love of Albert Camus comes from a teenager’s desire for pretentious chic or, at best, some sort of angsty, pseudo-philosophical hankering. ( And anyway, if I had wanted to be pretentious for the sake of it, I was reading Ionesco too in those days, and you only read that in French. Sadly, this is no longer an...
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