The face I saw, the face that was my face, was full of something, trembling like a glass brimful of water, trembling like a whippet. Not out of fear, but out of the simple fact of being alive. To be a whippet was to tremble, and to be me was to tremble like a glass full of water.
2 comments:
does jeff in venice have any of the homosexual/pederast themes of death in venice?
no
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