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If you take the dry dust and
mold it into mud, then you stick it
in the path of a river, where algae
rushes past. ‘I drank once, it was
a brilliant spot.’ ‘But you said that
you got sick after?’ ‘Oh, yes, and I stopped
talking for two years. The spring
came out luteous and brown, it
clogged all my insides, but what a sleep
I had.’ At the banks of the
river is someone’s lost mother, and- oh
the things she has to say!