[285] 2/7 She sees that convalescence Stanley’s is hampered by this painful issue. flattening his effervescence It’s and tearing at his very tissue and drowning him in discontent; it bends him as his back is bent. She thinks about him as she twists a rope around a bollard, fists feeling the heat beneath her gloves. She concentrates on her belaying as if it were a way of saying that she believes in Stanley, loves him foremost in her heart and mind with knots that stay and ties that bind. [286] 3/7 Across the city, Glenn unravels as if he were a silver thread. His conscience has been casting cavils around his unresponsive head, reverberating longer, louder, fighting to penetrate the chowder that passes for his addled brains. His swollen cerebrum contains surging electric storms, a torrent of signals darting right and left, a tapestry, a warp and weft, some welcome, some absurd, abhorrent, a costume for a masquerade caught on a nail, unwoven, frayed. [287] 4/7 He leaves her in the morning, vowing through wreaths of morning mist and guilt that no chance of his allowing there’s this to continue, that jilt he’ll her finally before the dusk. sickened by the clinging musk He’s that cloys his fingers and his nose. sticky with her, feels her close He’s around his body, feels imprisoned. He thinks been entangled, fooled. he’s If not careful, be ruled he’s he’ll until old and grey and wizened he’s with priests and mourners in attendance; he clamours for his independence. [288] 5/7 But by the afternoon struggling. he’s
[285] 2/7 She sees that Stanley’s convalescence is hampered by this painful issue. It’s flattening his effervescence and tearing at his very tissue and drowning him in discontent; it bends him as his back is bent. She thinks about him as she twists a rope around a bollard, fists feeling the heat beneath her gloves. She concentrates on her belaying as if it were a way of saying that she believes in Stanley, loves him foremost in her heart and mind with knots that stay and ties that bind. [286] 3/7 Across the city, Glenn unravels as if he were a silver thread. His conscience has been casting cavils around his unresponsive head, reverberating longer, louder, fighting to penetrate the chowder that passes for his addled brains. His swollen cerebrum contains surging electric storms, a torrent of signals darting right and left, a tapestry, a warp and weft, some welcome, some absurd, abhorrent, a costume for a masquerade caught on a nail, unwoven, frayed. [287] 4/7 He leaves her in the morning, vowing through wreaths of morning mist and guilt that there’s no chance of his allowing this to continue, that he’ll jilt her finally before the dusk. He’s sickened by the clinging musk that cloys his fingers and his nose. He’s sticky with her, feels her close around his body, feels imprisoned. He thinks he’s been entangled, fooled. If he’s not careful, he’ll be ruled until he’s old and grey and wizened with priests and mourners in attendance; he clamours for his independence. [288] 5/7 But by the afternoon he’s struggling.
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