Commutatio

A fair exchange is no robbery. If you know the dealer

There should have been something romantic about the heady swell of grasses at the top of Greenwich hill in late June, but the boredom was stifling. The boy sat opposite her, staring fixedly at his book in a manner he probably imagined was admirable. Why he’d brought her, apart from to observe such old-fashioned endurance, was beyond her. With no book of…

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