“Lotto’s heart kicked froglike in his chest; sweeping toward him in her brilliant blue skirt, Mathilde. His azure lion rampant. Her long hair plaited down her left breast, she, the nexus of all the good of this world.”
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“I will never be old. I will never be sad. I’d scarf a cyanide capsule first. Life isn’t…”
“A thick drizzle from the sky, like a curtain’s sudden sweeping.”
“Her mouth moved down, then farther. He touched the top of her head, her fragile skull…”
“It comes over us that we shall never again hear the laughter of our friend, that this…”