“There ought to be a Censorship of Books. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. She was no longer a confederate in that.
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