At rare times Mastodon and a pair of camels would feed in the same area, butthe two animals, so vastly different, ignored each other, and it might be monthsbefore Mastodon saw another camel. Paul leaned over and crossed outarmson my copy, replacing it with something in Italian. The easy dexterity of her hands, shaping something she can’t see, reminds me of the way my mother used to fix my father’s ties while standing behind him. A final night in a room surrounded by all her fixed stars would only remind me of how much my own life was in flux.
In fact, the better I got to know Paul, the more I understood it was less a freedom than a kind of obligation. “He’s goading you, Tom,” Paul says quietly, from across the room. and their eyesa sparkling black so that when they stared this way and that, as they often did theyseemed as predacious as eagles. I assure you they are worth the wait.
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