Pride it is not but 

a sense of

an hon-

our, long


gnawed by


‘egoes id 

after her body 

and, all told, after her


not out of red

alpha mail-

ed cruelty but

more out of 

weird dutiful debility:

a glorious infirmity:

a falling in loveness which

always renews; 

always re-

[s]cues like stick of green-

baized gamenesses, and then

always various, and blue-

tinged gone-

passed, and yellow-

quartered funny fin,

as French might have us

say the very 

end; but even if in the

start the heart of the

breaking is already

existing, why not make a go

of being happy together?  

Why not

make a brake for 


dear B?

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