“the roasted-paper smell of very old books, and the seared ink of photocopied pages.”
“Time had ceased quivering and coiling back on itself. It had become taut and resonant and she was enfolded in its infinite smoothness.”
“Walls shift as the day’s warmth rushes out and coolness from the garden flows in to take its place. Couches exhale. In the attic, objects made of suede and velvet stir. Forgotten horsehair mattresses sigh and wonder. Something flutters.”
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