SOMETIMES he felt like that twelve-year-old boy who spent nine days and nights at the fair, sleeping in one pavilion or another and scrounging enough money for food by picking coins out of the fountains. But Writer John McPhee spent ten days there and only part of the nights and he ateas the editorial business manager will discoverwithout dipping a finger in a fountain. In fact, he ate his way through such delights as soft-shelled crab on a bun, walnut fried Boston sole, partridge with grapes of Almeria, banana dogs, smoked eel of the...
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