Abstract:
“Warmth penetrates her dress. I press my fingers against her stomach. Out of that part of my mind which has struggled with Herculean effort to forget, comes the real and living memory of her touch, a memory that is deep and strong, and followed by the agonizing remembrance of loss, of hurt, of pain and long empty hours that torture my mind until relieved by the numbing poultice of time. For more mornings than I have present recollection that poultice has sedated my need for that touch, and for those mornings’ nights let me sleep without longing to awaken.”