Seven days in Russia, an evening in a warm cavern-y pub, Christmas in Paris with a dearest friend, creamed spinach for dinner, wonderful classes, Woody Allen for cold Swedish evenings, a languid and lingering old-fashioned feelgood, discovering the best shelves and corners in bookstores and libraries, snowfall, scholarly excursions to Stockholm, liking to re-see my own photos, a pleasant and gentle home-sickly nostalgia, a dreamy afternoon with the sun shining golden on the field outside, everything lovely and fine.
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