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The worse horror beneath: that she hadn’t missed anything, that her life was merely the sum of her choices and that her choices had led her to this: another truncated encounter; the carcinogenic belief in the idea of a Great Love; clammy sex; loneliness in the small hours.
You turn up on a rainy Monday afternoon proud of all your woeful particulars – and London humbles you with its wealth of generals.
his chest is busy with naked feelings still waiting for their language hats and coats.
The bones loded with love, grief silting the arteries, fear the bowels’ recurring mould. Who would have thought mere flesh and blood could hold so much of psyche’s ghostly script?)
They let the old life of irritated ambition slide away, discover it was an unnecessary encumbrance.