When he finally came to the last mausoleum, nothing was out of place. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, the gray figure of a woman angel, her face all but covered by the hood of her robe, and holding a lantern over her head. Sex “Oh please…”
He pinched her swollen nipples and then pressed one to his mouth. And then, “Oh yes, yes, my darling, finally…”
With impatient fingers she tugged at his trousers. “It was terrible. He walked up and down the rows, as if inspecting them. “I can’t wait. “Merry Christmas, darling,” he said. If that spirits goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death.”
-Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol”
***
It was midnight on Christmas Eve. He sucked one breast all the way into his mouth. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear. It was a question he’d been avoiding answering for some time, in his private moments. The only thing different was another new painting, also of her, this one in miniature, set up on a bedside table, with flowers piled so high around it even in the middle of winter that they nearly buried the frame.
