I am not sinuous or suave; I sit among you abrading your softness with my hardness, quenching the silver-grey flickering moth-wing quiver of words with the green spurt of my clear eyes.

“I fear I shall be a clinger to the outsides of words all my life.”

“It flattered her, where she was most susceptible of flattery, to think how, wou…”

“Ce era asta? Ce însemna asta? Oare lucrurile puteau să-și întindă mâna, așa, și…”

“Straightening himself and stealthily fingering his pocket-knife he started afte…”