It had been a very long time. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. Her confession was still unmade. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be rumpling it. We’ll go to the shops.
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