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Been reading The Woods of Arcady, which for whatever reason is a complete slog. I usually devour Mr. Moorcock's works, but the fantastical adventure-cum-autobiography interspersed with stream-of-consciousness just isn't doing it for me. I currently have a sunk-cost fallacy where I keep reading because I've already put time into it, but it ends up only being a measured sip each night. And it holds me up from reading other stuff.
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