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Enron Mail |
Two things: First. What does the art of motorcycle riding have to do with
lost literature or George Eliot? Second. Elliot is spelled Eliot. But otherwise, thoroughly enjoyable e-mail message, if not a tad smug over the whole book-finding issue. Where did you find it, anyway? E-bay? Afghanistan? You know, in some circles they would consider procurement of that book akin to scoring a pound of pure cocaine. Not that yucky not adulterated stuff. I'm rambling and should actually go do some work, being that that is the technical term for what I'm doing right now. "Working," that is. But I have several spreadsheets strategically placed around my computer screens (I have two, that's how important I am), to make it appear that I'm VERY, VERY busy. And speaking of importance, I'm curious to know if you're the actual "owner" of the Portland Running Co., as it states on your card, or if the Portland Running Co. is one of those forward-thinking organizations that gives all its employees pseudo-ownership in the form of one stock share, or if those are just cards you had made to impress people? In any case, I probably owe you some retroactive respect for your ingenuity, either for becoming the owner of such a shop, or for making people believe you are. Hey, do you know what George Eliot's real first name is? If you respond to this e-mail in the next twenty minutes, I'll tell you. Otherwise you're on your own. By the way, that's a beautifully worded passage you chose. And it rhymes, in case you didn't notice that. Kate DaveHarkin@aol.com on 03/16/2001 12:31:00 AM To: kate.symes@enron.com cc: Subject: oh lost literature and the art of motrocyle riding "Was never true love loved in vain, For truest love is highest gain. No art can make it: it must spring Where elements are fostering. So in heaven's spot and hour Springs the little native flower, Downward root and upward eye, Shapen by the earth and sky." Prologue to chapter 47, "The Dead Hand" Middlemarch, George Elliot, 1871 Guess who found it -
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