“That is where my cervix should be. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. I won’t try. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. Their conversation hung. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream.
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