Only bit of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek you need to read:
"These are morning matters, pictures you dream as the final wave heaves you up on the sand to the bright light and drying air. You remember pressure, and a curved sleep you rested against, soft, like a scallop in its shell. But the air hardens your skin; you stand; you leave the lighted shore to explore some dim headland, and soon you're lost in the leafy interior, intent, remembering nothing."
Because it's pretty times TEN MILLION. Even if the rest of the book is just about dirty animal fornicating. Moth sex liek woah.
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"These are morning matters, pictures you dream as the final wave heaves you up on the sand to the bright light and drying air. You remember pressure, and a curved sleep you rested against, soft, like a scallop in its shell. But the air hardens your skin; you stand; you leave the lighted shore to explore some dim headland, and soon you're lost in the leafy interior, intent, remembering nothing."
Because it's pretty times TEN MILLION. Even if the rest of the book is just about dirty animal fornicating. Moth sex liek woah.
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