It’s these damned novels. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf.
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