I Didn't Say You Shouldn't Worry, Do

For So Many Years, For So Long, I Have Been So Many Things, So Many Different Men. But Here," He Said, So Softly I Could Barely Hear Him, "here In The Dark, With You… I Have No Name.

I Felt The Tributaries Of His Veins, Wished To Enter Into His Bloodstream, Travel There, Dissolved And Bodiless, To Take Refuge In The Thick Walled Chambers Of His Heart.

I Wasn't Used To Living Crowded Cheek By Jowl With Numbers Of Other People, As Was Customary Here. People Ate, Slept, And Frequently Copulated, Crammed Into Tiny, Stifling Cottages, Lit And Warmed By Smoky Peat Fires. The Only Thing They Didn't Do Together Was Bathe - Largely Because They Didn't Bathe.

Sometimes,' He Whispered At Last, 'sometimes, I Dream I Am Singing, And I Wake From It With My Throat Aching.' He Couldn't See Her Face, Or The Tears That Prickled At The Corners Of Her Eyes. 'what Do You Sing?' She Whispered Back. She Heard The Shush Of The Linen Pillow As He Shook His Head. 'no Song I've Ever Heard, Or Know,' He Said Softly. 'but I Know I'm Singing It For You.

Lying On The Floor, With The Carved Panels Of The Ceiling Flickering Dimly Above, I Found Myself Thinking That I Had Always Heretofore Assumed That The Tendency Of Eigh­teenth-century Ladies To Swoon Was Due To Tight Stays; Now I Rather Thought It Might Be Due To The Idiocy Of Eighteenth-century Men.