I promise you I didn't pose this - this copy of Felix Holt was just sitting there on a wall on the top floor of Parking Structure D this morning. And that's very mysterious: I can probably count on one hand - even on two or three fingers - the number of people on campus who are likely to be reading this particular George Eliot novel, and none of those are especially likely to have purchased this rather obscure edition, nor, indeed, to have left it out there at 8 a.m. for a seagull to read. It wasn't there when I came home, but that proves nothing.
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