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157 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1951
"What's it like with you, Bob? Do things seem to sort of run together? Is it like you're flying through colored clouds?"
”Right now it's like having a high fever and being full of quinine. Everything's fuzzy and my ears hum."
"It doesn't sound very nice for you. Maybe what you need is a doctor."
"All right," I said. "Call a doctor."
"No. But I want it to be nicer for you. I want you to see the colors. Big clouds of colors swinging around and passing through each other. I don't think men have any fun being in love. Don't you see any colors?"
"No. I'm sorry."
It wasn’t that she had grown so much. She wasn’t big, even now. But it was as if she had received twenty-five pounds or so in the mail with instructions on how to put it on where she thought she needed it most.