Dolorosa Soror by Florence Dugas

By Florence Dugas

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And inside, a straight razor made from ivory and nickel. The implement of our ancestors. He shows me how to hold it so as not to cut my fingers. Slides it into the cups of my bra and slices them open with a simple flick of his wrist. ) and cuts the band of elastic fabric. My bra falls to my feet like a fruit paring. So much for Christian Dior. With two clean and precise razor blows at my hips, he rids me of my underpants, their pale chiffon opening like a Saint Andrew's cross on the light-colored floor.

Jaguar was paying, and the company was full of Brits being snobby about the older single malts and the relative merits of the Highlands versus Islay. I may appear pretty knowledgeable to you, but I learned a lot that night. In short, who knows how it happened? You know how I am when I drink! I only remember that at a given moment, I was lying on the cold and immense hood of a black Jaguar E-type. " "I don't know. A lot of them. One, whether because he couldn't get it up or because he thought it was a better idea, grabbed a Jaguar statuette—the totem of the evening.

She would go to Versailles, take a closer look at the magnificent theater the king had built to his scale. She was especially enthusiastic to see the performance hall designed by Gabriel. "The theater in the theater," she said, with the delighted air of having been the first one to come up with this banality. We stopped to talk at the rear of the Grand Trianon, leaning our elbows against the balustrade that overlooks the French gardens and, farther off, the great canal. In the semicircle that connects the gardens to the esplanade, a group of about fifteen Japanese tourists were listening attentively to the commentary of their charming guide.

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