He wanted to put it down, throw it away. He was compelled to carry on reading.
This book, The Fountainhead, is creating a reaction I’d describe with the same turns of phrase that I’m irritated to read inside it. That I agree and so violently disagree, at the same time and in stark constrast, is a sure sign it’s making me think.
Not a sign I want to finish it. But I will.
Certainly, perhaps, keep going.