We men are like children. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. . There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. His hands reached under her skirt. “I hope you have not come for that. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it.
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