There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. She’s right upstairs. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely.
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