Wakefield

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wakefield

There is something enormously satisfying about a good short story — something like sculpture, where form takes on as much importance as subject and meaning.

“I did not really believe what I had accused her of. I was the one who came on to people. I had attributed to her my own wandering eye. That is the basis of jealousy, is it not? A feeling that your congenital insincerity is a universal?”

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