It’s 2009. The bedside lamp’s warm, incandescent glow spreads a soft light over the master bedroom. Your wife breathes quietly next to you, already asleep. You’ve been reading through a list of modern “classics” — on tonight’s docket is a continuation of your dystopian journey through Orwell’s 1984. You power up your nifty new Kindle, navigate to the library section, and are hit with a sense of puzzled unease. Where is 1984? You page back and forth, confused, unable to find the title. Annoyed, blaming your own incompetence and muttering about the temperamentality of emerging tech, you flick the light off and go to sleep.
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