The Little Professor is busily corrupting students, what with all that distempered excitement and those dangerous cravings, and I must heartily concur and add warnings of my own: Once you start reading a really excellent novel, you might as well kiss your dull-minded, content-to-be-bored life goodbye, and become forever the trembling slave of pleasures unknown.  Like what just happened to me with Sarah Waters’ Fingersmith.  I mean for god’s sake, people, I lost uncounted hours reveling in bad new words and whiplash plotting and ladies’ prisons and it got so bad, why, I almost forgot to take my Flintstones Chewable Morphine!

So beware.

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