I am reminded of what makes a good writer, great.
It is not the words that they use, but the words that they leave out.
[[ “Just five days from now,” the stranger said, “Sutton will come back.”
He paused a moment, then added, “Early in the morning.”
“There’s no way,” said Adams, crisply, “you could know a thing like that.”
“But I do. It’s recorded fact.” Adams snorted. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
“In my time it has.” ]]
Time and Again, by the late great Simak.
I would predict that few would like this story from so long ago. I think that the old SF has entered the realm of "literature"; to be enjoyed by people who read it in the past, and by scholars. Which is how I think of all the "great" literature.
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