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We slept in what had once been the gymnasium
The bell that measures time is ringing. Time here is measured by bells
Don't call me Ma'am, she said irritably. You're not a Martha
'The war is going well, I hear', she says
To be seen – to be seen – is to be – her voice trembled – penetrated. What you must be, girls, is impenetrable. She called us girls
Ordinary ... is what you are used to
I sing to myself, in my head […] I don’t sing like this often. It makes my throat hurt
I wait. I compose myself. My self is a thing I must now compose, as one composes a speech.
This is a loony bin
You are spoiled girls, she twinkled, as if rebuking a kitten. Naughty puss.
But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It’s lack of love we die from
You young people don't appreciate things, she'd say. You don't know what we had to go through, just to get you where you are. Look at him, slicing up the carrots. Don't you know how many women's lives, how many women's bodies, the tanks had to roll over just to get that far?
'Not like that', he says. 'As if you meant it'
Time’s a trap, I’m caught in it
'Do you think God listens,' she says, 'to these machines?'
Ours is not to reason why
For them, one and one and one and one don’t make four
'A picture [...] your little girl. But only maybe'
I must also remind our keynote speaker [...] to keep within his time period [...] none of us wants to miss lunch, as happened yesterday
Professor Maryanne Crescent Moon
[...] since dubbed by some of our historical wags 'The Underground Frailroad'