I ordered Pascal’s Pensées in French from a bookstore in Zagreb on February 21. They told me it would take about six weeks for the book to arrive by post. Indeed, they called me this morning to tell me that the book was waiting for me. I explained that I was in Motovun at this time, and that I would be back in the Croatian capital in about a fortnight. I was told that the book would be waiting for me. Only at this point I was informed that it arrived pretty mangled. The bookstore was thus offering me a discount of thirty-five percent if I would still take it. I accepted the offer without a thought and asked what had happened. They did not know, but the book now looks quite awful. Most important, nothing seems to be missing from it. “Poor Pascal,” I laughed at last. “He would certainly appreciate this story about his mangled thoughts.” At any rate, I can hardly wait to see the book. As well as feel it in my hands. I bet the book will be so much dearer to me mangled as it is than if it arrived in perfect shape. It has only brought Pascal and me so much closer than we have ever been.