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Chapter 14 No.14

I will not clothe myself in wreck-wear gems

Sawed from cramped finger-bones of women drowned;

Feel chilly vaporous hands of ireful ghosts

Clutching my necklace: trick my maiden breast

With orphans' heritage. Let your dead love

Marry its dead.

Gwendolen looked lovely and vigorous as a tall, newly-opened lily the next morning: there

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