HELEN Nights of a marriage are like an Egypt in a woods. Cheap theatre smell, rooms settle and hiss. What is he doing. Sleep, its hours pleat together and close like a fan, what does she know. Waters move slightly or do they. Paths glide to them, to who? Glide off. Vanishes out of the marriage, into the marriage. Troy vanishes too, murmuring, stain is a puzzle you do not want the answer to. Every war needs one.
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