She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. “Ciao, Fragolina. ‘That’s why I’m asking. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. And experience was slow in coming. Man's fate is in his own hands.
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