He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. He came over to me. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. ” She said. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest.
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