that terrifying moment when everything is happily resolved but the book still has 200 pages left
that terrifying moment when there’s too many things that need resolving but the book has only 20 pages left
IT’S JUST LIKE
"Yet Byron never made tea as you do, who fill the pot so that when you put the lid on the tea spills over. There is a brown pool on the table—it is running among your books and papers. Now you mop it up, clumsily, with your pocket-hankerchief. You then stuff your hankerchief back into your pocket—that is not Byron; that is so essentially you that if I think of you in twenty years’ time, when we are both famous, gouty and intolerable, it will be by that scene: and if you are dead, I shall weep."