She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all.
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