He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. “For my part I can see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with their demure manner and atrocious songs. She breathed deeply. This is altogether insupportable. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. Unless he has killed someone. I just wanted a breath of air. A cup of lies.
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