The New Yorker is basking in the reflected glory of the Lacuna Cabal Montreal Young Women's Book Club (scroll to bottom of link to see if you're fit for membership). As, really, why should they not?
(Oh wait... that link wasn't about a magazine... It was about a train.)
(And apologies to all those who believed the LC was actually being somehow represented in the New Yorker.)
(And speaking of Eustace Tilley, I just found this beautiful compilation.)
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