Activity

What bliss it had been. Bliss—what a moist, lapping, and plashing word, so alive, so tame, smiling and crying all by itself.

or else his hand adumbrated a kind of beckoning gesture directed to no one in particular

in order to shed all the integument of exile, I would have to tear off and destroy my clothes, my linen, my shoes, everything, and remain ideally naked

The portrait, after some obscure peregrinations, was acquired by the museum of Leroy’s native town.

From the avenue came the clatter of cast counters and the stentorian, r-trilling voice of Elenski advising somebody to “keep trying.”