Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute.
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