I stole it from him. That portfolio could start a thousand literary careers, end a thousand more. If you brought it to the Universities, you'd be a hero among academics for years to come. I could not say. Donne's torch is fading.
Time kills the memory, of course, but it's more than simple time working.
The Great Unread simply cannot be bothered with old Donne. Of course the dreams are fading. The bards of your day produce nothing, only chew and spit up what their competitors have likewise regurgitated. She leaned toward me, eyes like some form of deep brown opal. Pavanne resumed her position, a sort of full-bodied relaxed sigh.