Sublime

unsullied.

discernible;

I had no right to ask for more because I’d kept all of my secrets from her. I’d lied to her, saying that I came from New Zealand, and that I had no family. I hadn’t even told her my real name. And because I was in love with her, I felt trapped by those fictions. She’d kissed me, and it was good; honest and good. But I didn’t know if the truth in th

At age fifty he viewed himself, after publication of two books of nonfiction, one on the war, the other a personal account of the Irish troubles, plus the short story collection and innumerable articles for national magazines, as a conundrum, a man unable to define his commitment or understand the secret of his own navel, a literary gnome. He serio