Marc Chagall I and the Village painting

Marc Chagall I and the Village paintingMarc Chagall Birthday paintingGeorges Seurat Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte painting
"Different how, Anastasia?" I'd squatted before her; now with a wail she flung her arms about my neck and wept into my fleece. Once she'd managed between shudders to explain, as best she grasped it, that her ravisher was altogether lustless, craving only her reproductive assistance; that his private construction was not like that of any male in her large experience; and that in the nature of his case it was highly doubtful, even unimaginable, that she would conceive by those glaucous gouts of his rank stuff -- most of which, thanks to my timely appearance and her collapse, had anyhow missed their mark -- I advised her that she needn't loathe him. She wiped her eyes.
"I guess I don't, George, now that I know. But,ugh!"
"I have to drive him out of the Belly now," I said, "and sooner or later off the campus. Part of my work. But I don't have any feeling about him, one way or the other."
She sniffed and shivered. "Me neither. But, George. . ."
"Yes?"
Again she hugged and wailed. "I love You!" Then at once she drew away. "What are we going todo?"
I begged her pardon. Three hours and eight minutes previously, when so much