Mr. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. ” She played with her hair. She happened to have an acute sense of form and unusual mental lucidity, and she found in biology, and particularly in comparative anatomy, a very considerable interest, albeit the illumination it cast upon her personal life was not altogether direct. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Nothing else matters. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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