’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in.
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