Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. ” “Were you sexually abused? Was it a miscarriage?” “No.
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