Speaking of big wodges of paper, I'm beginning to think that someone is sneakily sticking extra pages in the back of my Tom Wolfe book. I have NEVER spent so long reading a novel before; it's starting to get me down. I could just give up, but how can I admit defeat now after all the precious hours I've expended on the bloody thing? After this I'm going to reward myself with nothing but slim volumes of poetry for a month.