There is no safety from modern man's existential dilemmas, not even among the buffered, privileged denizens of post-World War I Britain's ruling classes. Long before a crew of coffee-stained French writers were proclaiming the futility of human endeavor, a mild-faced and highly polished English authoress named
Virginia Woolf wrote a novel of isolation and despair so perfect in its depiction of bourgeois humanity's
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