All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren’t there.
“I drowsed in her etherising atmosphere”
― Fierce Attachments: A Memoir
― Fierce Attachments: A Memoir
“Mircalla,”
― Carmilla
― Carmilla
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