My dad threw aside his half-smoked Viceroy with a flourish. “Okay,” he said, “hop in.” The desert air had magnetized him. Back in New York, he had looked a bit worn-out and seedy but out in the rippling heat his white sportcoat and his cult-leader sunglasses made sense.
– The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
My favourite book of last year. It might be time for a re-read. She has such a way with words.
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Love Goldfinch. The book pulses with Place.
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