He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “He sees through it all. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. She may have any number of wasting diseases, but they cannot survive in our bodies. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure.
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