The Tome has come back to me on the one month anniversary of my confinement. It looks fresh, inviting, alluring, seductive. It looks remarkably like a book I have never read before. It looks like a book whose rainbow pages—you never know—might just be in the best order. It sits on the coffee table, hefty and contented, looking as if everything is possible.
Telegrams with a limited number of words, sent slower and cheaper than a regular telegram.