I wonder to myself how many women finished these two books. They make me think about the late sixties and early seventies when I often felt required to stroke male egos by listening endlessly with upturned face to clever, sometimes brilliant and often tedious talk; nodding my head, fluttering my lashes, giving approving smiles, marching back and forth to the toilet while consuming ever more pitchers of beer, besotted with boredom, finally giving way to exhaustion all to avoid the inadvertent insult to masculinity that flagging interest in matters of so little importance to me might have caused.
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