Pages 164 and 165

“What is it?” he asked. “I don’t know,” she said. It spilled from a philosophy and folklore of”

Pages 166 and 167

“language — and the debris compounded of many voices, some laughing, some drunken, that grew out of a bed. It whirled toward a crowd, and dropped”

Pages 168 and 169

“a rope to the center of a hooting ring of rescuers on hands and knees like bees in a sudden alarm, as he drew her arm around”

Pages 170 and 171

“a whisper. He composed”

This entry was posted in artists books, fairy tale, poetry, pulp romance and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Pages 164 and 165

  1. Norma Markley says:

    Better than ever.

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