"No paper or envelopes, of course. Only a morsel of pink blotting-paper, incredibly soft and limp and almost moist, like the tongue of little dead kitten, which I’ve never felt.
I sat – but always underneath, in this state of expectation, rolling the little dead kitten’s tongue round my finger and rolling the soft phrase round my mind… "
(je ne parle pas français, k. mansfield)
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