Spring 2004
I managed to talk sensible Alice into a little pink outfit and high heels.
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The most arcane sexual practices could arouse me from my torpor.
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For a moment I had the delicious feeling of fitting in without even trying.
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The beer and the kissing and the lateness of the hour had got to me.
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Once she said, “Dying is nothing, but . . . the separation!”
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If I had been blessed that afternoon, why did I lose my tongue?
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I had the tongue of an adder and my heart was black with rage and hate.
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