Sunday, October 4, 2015

the last book I ever read (Edmund White's The Beautiful Room is Empty, excerpt two)

from The Beautiful Room is Empty by Edmund White:

We found ourselves in her dormitory room. Like everything else in the art academy, her room had a distinctive odor I’ve never encountered since except once, recently, in the Chanel boutique of a Paris department store. I almost asked the saleswoman what the smell could be, but the most important things in our intimate lives can’t be discussed with strangers, except in books.

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