The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. The only inconvenience I feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink. He picked her up outside her last period Ceramics class. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts.
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