In Berkey Hall he is reading his paper about Albertine’s lies, telling how (in the anti-locution of the line) Marcel does a quick step then sort of plunks us on the forehead. Earlier today the news was about dairy farms, how it is that the distance from Wisconsin sets the price of milk, how it is all tied to welfare reform and the American conscience stretched out like the loneliest of back roads.
Before it rains the cows in Hickmott’s pasture know, and so they glide on the diagonal toward home heavy udders like military duffels swing. And I can only stop to watch them, to ask who amongst us knows the milk first drawn (or the lie while it is being told) before it becomes some other continent like words in Berkey Hall.
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