Felt Masks

‘Once upon a time, when my wife was a epigrammist, we bartered for a bushel of acorns and left the market crying. Those were the days when tears were as salty as sea-water and even the kindest of men wore felt masks.’ (My Wife was a Epigrammist, from Picked Herring Wig, by Vladimir Dorwindovitch)

Intricate plots are not his strong point, but one has to admit that Dorwindovitch has a hold on opening lines….

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