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p. 88


She sleeps in her undone hair, her hands entwined behind her neck. But does she dream? Her lips are parted and her breath is gentle.

With a little dab of down I dry, without awakening her, the perspiration from her arms, the fever from her cheeks. Her closed eyelids are two purple flowers.

I shall arise quietly; I'll go draw water, milk the cow, and beg some fire from our neighbors. I want to be coiffed and dressed completely when she opens her eyes.

Sleep, remain awhile between her lovely curving lashes, and spin out the happy night with a dream of happy omen.

Next: The Kiss