Because a life without a Maxi... is a bit more mini.
When candlelight began to fade she went to bed and dreamt of what she had read on the other side of the paper: saw the Kamchatkans on their high peninsula looking at her through the window and snowmasks they make from the gut of the bear, and heard the whistle of mown grass falling were they slashed it with the sharpened shoulder blade of the bear. (Bear, Chap. VI, p. 32)
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