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For the past two weeks – two weeks being the maximum extent of my attention or desire – I’ve been dreaming of two things: a job that best fits Churchill’s account of democracy and a glass of white wine poured over sliced peaches. That one cannot get both while sunbathing by the pool merits some research or, at least, some thought and pause. So I pause a little longer: in the face of such a bewildering paradox, surely books can wait a few more minutes.