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34 Sunday Morning Desire swung like that: like her legs in procession, like perfume from a censer on its linked chain. Heavy as smoke in the hold’s light, desire. A church, a cathedral, the body in that robe. The robe sash swinging. The progress through the sinning body to this sacred spot. A man kneeling. A man with head bent. A man lifting his prayer to a woman. Desire. Desire. Desire. Grant us grace. ...

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