When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 22-09-2024 19:16:50
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