Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cO56O-0005dc-0g for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Mon, 02 Jan 2017 08:04:48 -0800 Received: from [89.163.249.114] (port=55484 helo=legendshopss.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cO56I-0005by-9O for lojban@lojban.org; Mon, 02 Jan 2017 08:04:46 -0800 Date: Mon, 02 Jan 2017 09:28:33 -0700 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii From: AmazonRewards Subject: Your're (amazon) rewards expiring on January 2nd: prim.18413013 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit To: Message-ID: <96318413013_2399130962c2c7e55fbfda4353ca10c7b6e541eeed8.lojban@lojban.org_svz> Mime-Version: 1 X-Spam-Score: -0.4 (/) X-Spam_score: -0.4 X-Spam_score_int: -3 X-Spam_bar: / randomly shop
He feels wiry hair and damp lips. She moves his fingers; the lips slide together like thick slices of beef. She pushes his finger against what feels like a marble, hidden in the slippery folds of her flesh; she makes him rub it up and down, harder and harder . Suddenly her thighs clamp together, trapping his hand. She groans. Then she pulls out his hand, laughs, slaps his face and leaves. At the time he was frightened. Terrified, in fact. Disgusted and ashamed. He was only ten years old. His damp fingers smelled of brine and a faint aroma of rotting melons. Remembering it, however, works its magic. He trembles at his own wickednessah, but it excites him too. Its coming its coming fire the cannons! he whispers and suddenly he is pumping his seed inside her. He grips her flesh in a final spasm; his thin shanks shiver. And then he collapses, spent, his old heart hammering against his ribs. Praise be to God, he pants. Sophia lies beneath him without stirring. She seems to be speaking. He can hear her voice but not the words; his heart is pounding in his ears. What did you say, my love? I said, I have changed my mind. She turns her face from his and buries it in the pillow. What I told you at dinner I have changed my mind. I dont want another painter. She pauses. Let that man come back. 6 Maria Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret places is pleasant. JACOB CATS, Moral Emblems, 1632 Down below, in her bed in the wall, Maria sleeps. On t

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He feels wiry hair and damp lips. She moves his fingers; the lips slide together like thick slices of beef. She pushes his finger against what feels like a marble, hidden in the slippery folds of her flesh; she makes him rub it up and down, harder and harder . Suddenly her thighs clamp together, trapping his hand. She groans. Then she pulls out his hand, laughs, slaps his face and leaves. At the time he was frightened. Terrified, in fact. Disgusted and ashamed. He was only ten years old. His damp fingers smelled of brine and a faint aroma of rotting melons. Remembering it, however, works its magic. He trembles at his own wickednessah, but it excites him too. Its coming its coming fire the cannons! he whispers and suddenly he is pumping his seed inside her. He grips her flesh in a final spasm; his thin shanks shiver. And then he collapses, spent, his old heart hammering against his ribs. Praise be to God, he pants. Sophia lies beneath him without stirring. She seems to be speaking. He can hear her voice but not the words; his heart is pounding in his ears. What did you say, my love? I said, I have changed my mind. She turns her face from his and buries it in the pillow. What I told you at dinner I have changed my mind. I dont want another painter. She pauses. Let that man come back. 6 Maria Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret places is pleasant. JACOB CATS, Moral Emblems, 1632 Down below, in her bed in the wall, Maria sleeps. On t

he floor she has laid her shoes upside down to keep away the witches. Outside, the canal exhales its chill breath into the air. The fog has cleared. The moon slides out from behind a cloud and shines on the rows of houses that line the Herengracht. They are rich peoples houses, built to last; their brick gables rear into the sky. Sightlessly, their windows shine in the moonlight. Between them lies the canal. A breeze ruffles the water; it creases like satin. Far away a dog barksfirst one and then another, spreading like news of the outbreak of war, a war that only the dogs know is approaching. The night watchman tramps through the streets. He blows his horn, announcing the hour, but Maria snores in the childless house. She dreams that the rooms fill up with water, and her master and mistress, locked in their curtained bed, float away. The sea rises and submerges the city but now she is a fish swimming through the rooms. Look, I can breathe! She is free while all the others drown all but her babies. A flickering shoal, they swim behind her. They dart here and there, suspended above the checkerboard marble floors. Maria smiles, mistress of her underwater palace. Others have died so that she can live, and in the world of dreams this seems perfectly fitting. 7 Cornelis If the poet says that he can inflame men with love, which is the central aim in all animal species, the painter has the power to do the same, and to an even greater degree, in that he can place in front of the lover the true likeness of that which is beloved, often making him kiss and speak to it. LEONARDO DA VINCI, Notebooks Two weeks pass before the next sitting. Cornelis is a busy man; he is always out and about. He has his warehouse to run, down in the harbor. At midday the Stock Market opens and he hurries down to the Bourse. Amsterdam is awash with capital, and dealing there is brisk, often frenzied, because the place closes at two. In addition to this he has civic duties for he is a prominent citizen, a man of substance in this burgeoning city. It is 1636 and Amsterdam is thriving. The seat of government is in The Hague, but Amsterdam is the true capital of the Republic. Trade is booming; the arts are flourishing. Fashionable men and women stroll along its streets, and the canals mirror back the handsome houses in which they live. The city is threaded with mirrors.

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