on dry thighbones but on blood-ripe lives, And our best yesterdays are now foul piles Of crumpled names, phone numbers and foxed files.

I will never go back. For the simple reason that all the Russia I need, after all, is with me–always with me. Her literature, her language, my own Russian childhood. I will never return, I will never surrender.

And now, said Ada, Van is going to stop being vulgar-I
mean, stop forever! Because I had and have and shall always
have only one beau, only one beast, only one sorrow, only one joy.

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