In the context of the novel, disparate characters appear as isolate as shards in the universe and yet they are all components of the same cosmic scheme. Each has its seasons: For all of them there is a struggling early growth as in spring, followed by a balmy, illusory summer, an accumulation of yellowy orange days inducing a sense of lost awareness, a timeless expanse when there seemed to be no past or tomorrow but only a lulling, unending present, and whole years drift by almost unnoticed. Then a raw wind blows from the north. Skins pebble and harden like lemon rinds. Furnaces cough into activity, belching soot over the block in a peppery mist. And a breath of air is laden with the unmistakable acrid reek of winter.
|Product dimensions:||7.00(w) x 10.00(h) x 1.31(d)|
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