I said, ‘It is no use your telling me about this walk and pretend I’ve been told about the ball, because you haven’t. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. And she, she in her own person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. Would you like to borrow some of my clothes? I think we're about the same size.
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