...as Long As Nothing Happens Between Them,

The Words Emerge From Her Body Without Her Realizing It, As If She Were Being Visited By The Memory Of A Language Long Forsaken.

Stormy Skies, Says Ernesto. He Grieved For Them. Summer Rain. Childhood.

You Are What You Are And That Fascinates Me.

That She Had So Completely Recovered Her Sanity Was A Source Of Sadness To Her. One Should Never Be Cured Of One's Passion.

I've Forgotten The Words With Which To Tell You. I Knew Them Once, But I've Forgotten Them, And Now I'm Talking To You Without Them.