It occurs to me I never did a follow up post on Middlemarch. In my previous post I was wary of the novel. About 160, 200 pages in, the book caught me. I just wanted to read and read and read it. Towards the end I wasn't quite as interested, and those gems of sentences stopped appearing unto me.
There. Wasn't that the most illuminating description of George Eliot ever?
Quite.
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