Read Jane Austen in Boca for Free Online Page B

asked, less impressed than Flo felt he should be by her on-the-spot recitation of the first line of Austen’s most famous novel.
    “I suppose. Really just a reader. When I was young, I read to escape my family Now I read to escape not having one. I became a librarian because I always felt safest in the library.”
    “I don’t think I’ve read a book—I mean from cover to cover—in years,” announced Norman. “I read the papers and the book reviews. I keep up with ideas, or so I like to think, eh, Stan? But I don’t seem motivated to read books, do you know what I mean? I don’t have the discipline at my age.” He looked at May, who nodded. “And for godsakes, you can’t tell what they’re about from the covers anymore.”
    “Do you notice a hidden boast?” Stan responded, gesturing toward his friend with a bit more animation than he had shown until now. “I think he’s really proud of not reading. He likes to think of himself as a quick study who doesn’t need to pore over books to keep informed.”
    “Excuse me. I wasn’t boasting at all. I’m genuinely ashamed of how little I read, especially when I’m around you.”
    “If that were true, you wouldn’t be telling us about it. You’d be trying very hard to keep us from finding it out.”
    “Perhaps he’s simply trying to reduce the embarrassment by telling us about it before we find out,” offered Flo. “I think it’s a very effective strategy, and I don’t think any less of him for doing it.”
    “Thank you,” said Norman cheerfully. “I hope you don’t either.” He turned to May.
    “Not at all,” laughed May. “I agree with you. I wish I read more. I just don’t like the books being written now, that’s all.”
    “Then read the older books,” said Stan. “Read George Eliot and Henry James and Dickens.”
    “But what did they think about the Jews?” quipped Flo (she was herself quite partial to these writers but determined to give this pompous man some opposition). “George Eliot, as a woman, understood what it’s like to be kicked around, but Dickens and James were anti-Semites to the core.”
    Stan looked annoyed. “I wouldn’t say that. You have to consider when they wrote—and the nature of the characters involved.”
    “I see,” said Flo, “they only hated Jews when it came time to write about money-grubbing, greasy shysters; otherwise they didn’t have a problem.”
    “I think you’re intentionally missing the point. Dickens and James wrote great literature that happened to reflect the prejudices of the society in which they lived.”
    “Prejudices that helped create a climate for the pogroms and the Holocaust.”
    “Yours is the kind of attitude that has helped keep us in the ghetto, intellectually speaking.”
    “And their attitude helped keep us there, literally speaking.”
    “Now, let’s not get political,” cautioned Norman. “I think you’ve met your match in this one, Herr Professor.” He turned to May, whom he could see was relieved to have him stop the debate, and was about to ask how long she’d been in Boca when he was interrupted by a shout from halfway across the room.
    “Norman Grafstein, as I live and breathe!” One of the women whom Carol had met on the supermarket line pushed her way toward them. She was wearing purple harem pants and an enormous quantity of mascara, and might have put serious film enthusiasts in mind of the great silent-screen vamp Theda Bara (really, Theodosia Goodman, daughter of a Jewish tailor from Cincinnati), albeit a good ninety years after her screen debut.
    Norman looked confused for a moment and then showed signs of recognition. “Gloria Fox, how are you?”
    “Fine,” corrected the woman. “I’m fine, too, but it’s Gloria Fine.”
    “Of course,” said Norman. “Gloria Fine. Janet’s sister. I saw you last at the Weissman bar mitzvah last year.”
    “It was the Janoff wedding, but never mind,” said Gloria, waving her hand. “All I know is