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“Much better were the quiet afternoons in the dim light ... my legs hanging from the end of the bed while he kneeled before my body as if in supplication. I was a greedy lover, he teased, and I was, I was, this desire, this pleasure, unknown and new. Light streamed into my bedroom early in the autumn through the thin lace curtains. The morning after Jude spent the night at my house for the first time, I turned to look at him beside me. He looked old. Not older, old.”

“What matters now is this, he said. He pulled me close, kissed the top of my head. Here, with you. I was so eager to be loved by him, to be held in his arms and reassured, to shut out the ghosts of other girlfriends from the room like a cold draft, I said nothing more. Climbing on top of him, my hand on his chest, an animal warmth. I bent to kiss him and let the damp ropes of my hair drag across his face, his chest. He reached up and moved his hands through it, as if it were light or water. I can see it all over your face, he said. Such naked wanting. I told him that I'd always been afraid of wanting anything so badly that it becomes visible.”