Is that laughter?
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he room is filled with lisps and whispers. Something mutters.One candle drowns and the other gutters. Is that the rainwhich pads and patters, is it the wind through the winding entrieswhich chatters? The state bed is very cold and he is alone. How far from the wallthe arras is blown! Christ's Death! It is no storm which makes these little chuckling sounds.By the Great Wounds of Holy Jesus, it is his dear lady, kissing andclasping someone! Through the sobbing storm he hears her love take formand flutter out in words. They prick into his ears and stun his desire,which lies within him, hard and dead, like frozen fire. And the little noisenever stops.
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