Off the best Rails

There are precious few native English speakers for whom I have such respect; for lack of a better word, as I have for Mary Ann Evans. She had to publish under the alias, George best Eliot, just because she didn't have a dick. She could be the finest writer to have ever come out of Britain. Middlemarch is a masterpiece. Adam Bede's the one to read for all you chippies, building castles made of sand. I'd've gotten kicks to have spent an intimate night with her, or six.

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