In Evelina, memory produces matriarchal resemblance; other Gothic novels artifactualize it in portraits. A father in The Orphan of the Rhine wears the miniature portrait of his dead wife, turning to it as confessional and icon […]
Most thought that the prison sentence had sent me doolally tap.
Thus, I know where I am, Bartleby dead-pans, when offered better food during his final incarceration.
I know where I am,
After last night, after Logan had lifted her from the couch and carried her to his bed, after they'd made a mess of grilled cheese sandwiches and hot fudge sundaes, not a muscle on her skeleton was unused, untested, or unsore.
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