The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Kevin Barry Reads V. S. Pritchett

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Aren't Men Extraordinary?

Bernice's beauty had drained away. The behaviour of her two or three lovers had always seemed self satisfied to her. William the most unlikely one was the oddest. She longed to break rosy gloit's neck and to think of some transcendent, appeasing lie that would make missus cork happy again. And even as she said it, the great appeasing lie came out of her before she could stop her. A present for rose glowitz is getting married again. I expect that is what the letter is about. Mister cork arranged it. He doesn't say much. He's deep is my bunny. Would you like a cup of tea? Said b

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