As a maxim oft applied to meeting people, I do my best not to. But in a literal (& literary) sense, I find judging a book by its cover— or, more accurately, having my interest piqued by— is often vindicated by the contents within.
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Case in point, the Persephone Books edition I just finished of Mariana by Monica Dickens, wrapped in the luscious painting Amity, 1933 by Bernard Fleetwood-Walker.
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