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If it might be said of a writer, as it would certainly be said of me, a writer needs a desk.  Though writing well rarely if ever comes down to a mere matter of good furniture, from the very beginning of the beginning of my literary aspirations I dreamed a dream of myself seeing myself toiling over a blank page, gripping a pencil in my hand with the sentient movement of my arm held up by the polished grain of well-crafted oak.