Thursday, May 4, 2017
"She had been wafted off, was enchanted not entirely by all she had had to drink and which was released inside her in a glow of earth chilled above a river at the noisy night harvest of vines, not altogether by this music, which, literally, was her honey, her feeling's tongue, but as much by sweet comfort, and the compulsion she felt here to gentleness that was put on her by these couples, by the blues, by wine, and now by the murmuring, night haunted, softness shared. Thus, not caring, neither did she notice if she spoke the truth, she began to tell. She told so as to bring in, most particularly, everything ever so closely back to their two selves."
From page 104