Scarlet Romance
He flipped over the front of the book to see the title. It was Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot.
“Well, that’s fitting,” B laughed and closed the book. He fell deeper into the recesses of the chair. He brought the glasses up to his face and thought, If this is what an estate man does, then let me be an estate man for just a couple of minutes while the whiskey does its work.
B let Dostoyevksy’s words run through his mind like a new mantra — it’s life that matters… the process of discovering… the everlasting and perpetual process… — and slid the glasses onto his face.