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“But his body, so cold, so unrelentingly unmoving was beginning to belong back to Earth, a block of perfect marble into which, even now, I tried to press my own life, exhaling, exhaling, exhaling. It's fruitless, you know it's fruitless, but you do it anyway, entreating your dead son to return to this perfectly usable thing, this beautiful, still body, so umblemished, so strong, so midstride.” — Alexandra Fuller
But his body, so cold, so unrelentingly unmoving was beginning to belong back to Earth, a block of perfect marble into which, even now, I tried to press my own life, exhaling, exhaling, exhaling. It's fruitless, you know it's fruitless, but you do it anyway, entreating your dead son to return to this perfectly usable thing, this beautiful, still body, so umblemished, so strong, so midstride.