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1 " The windows of his house shone in the darkness like squares of melting butter. "
― Annie Proulx , Postcards
2 " The ruddy liveliness, the quick rage of the eyes had faded. Here the skin was of the acetic whose neck is never marred by sucking kisses, the rigid facial planes of someone who spends time alone, untwisted by the squinting disguises of social life. His eyes did not change when women walked past.It could be, he thought, that spark was finally dead. But he did not believe it. "
