Speaking of Thomas Mann, I temporarily ran out of Chriss Offutt books, so I picked The Magic Mountain back up. And I found this rather bizarre proclamation of love on page 408 (of 854):
"Let me touch in devotion your pulsing femoral artery where it emerges at the top of your thigh and then divides farther down into the two arteries of the tibia!"
That is some weird ass shit, hey? I like that in a man. I am going to try not to be seduced away from this novel again before I finish it up . . . but that Chris Offutt is just so damn good . . . .
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