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Book Description by Greenfield McKenna The war, they say, makes haste of crushing souls. My soul I needed intact so I collected my compatriots & my fleshy partners of love & we went West to Heatherborough. A summer of memories, of deceptions, of love — it follows us to each corner of the earth, each corner of our lives, until our sweet deaths. Death could not come soon enough after what I saw in that humid old country home. Livid like a matador, I bided time, waiting for the key to success, the key to her heart. We held hands one sticky afternoon; before long, we traded pounds of flesh, & it was within her that I found life. It was without her that I found death. It stalked me like Poe's raven, like a cruel specter, until I succumbed to it like the fool that I be. In short order, I'll return to her. I'll bask in her warmth & she in mine & together we shall be one. One soul, one body, one death. |
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