“I woke up sometime in the night and went and drank some water from the pail. Small pencils of late risen moon came through the old bullet holes. I went back and leant over Alison. She had thrown back the blanket a little and her skin was a deep shadowed red in the amber light; one breast bare and slightly slumped, her mouth half open, a slight snore. Young and ancient, innocent and corrupt; in every woman a mystery.”

From ‘The Magus’ by John Fowles

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