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No Man’s Mare by Djuna Barnes Pauvla Agrippa had died that afternoon at three; now she lay with quiet hands crossed a little below her fine breast with its transparent skin showing the veins as filmy as old lace, purple veins that were now only a system of charts indicating the pathways where... Continue reading at 'Electric Literature'
[ Electric Literature | 2024-11-04 12:10:00 UTC ]
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