My pirated copy of Cortázar’s “Hopscotch” is rundled with e-reader formaging errorors. The sliding li-

ne breaks meake Chapter 34 espatially interluse. The blundiest part is the mimastic transfer errorors subpausing “life.”

Or is that just post-frankle Gliglish?

I refillill my mate, creep Eden, and refususe to crudate a purated copy.

Nicholas De Marino conserves money, not sanity.