There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love. “You have forgotten. “Sold again,” she remarked.
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