It's the wit that makes this book so wonderful: the waspish insights into character, the leisurely collisions of people and plot, and Trollope sitting in the corner of the book somewhere letting off one fizzing firework after another. I was completely hooked by Trollope's world of desperate power struggles over minor spoils, of unholy thoughts circling beneath posed Victorian religious exteriors like tiger sharks in a village pond. I'm glad he wrote so many books. You wouldn't want to run out of them.
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