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87 Mistress Irony and the Death of the World Madame scrolls the river with a scarred plank, bony arms assured in the sentences of the condemned. She enjoys the show surrounding her glass-bottom coffin. There aren’t enough nights like this, maneuvering lazy currents, easing through the tenebrous melancholy. A fizz of explosions ignites the city while all around folks splash and claw as if lives still depended on it. So many suitors. She has to laugh. ...

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