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“Marriage had diminished and deepened the mystery. She’d seen him on the toilet. She’d known him rank and sour. She’d caught him looking so empty and stupid and self-satisfied that she’d thought, This is the end of my interest. He can’t return from this. But at the same time his flesh expanded with familiarity. His particulars had become hers as well, so that the sight of them inspired a wash of mournful tenderness she’d neither known nor imagined, a careening sensation of possibility and loss. She believed, now, that no one was ever sure about love. Love arrived obliquely, at angles, but even when it lay dormant a boundary had been crossed, a sanctity relinquished.”

– Michael Cunningham, Flesh and Blood


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