"'My wound is inside me. It is the wound of lack of love. Since you can't see it, you say it isn't here. But I've been hurt in my feelings. My feelings're my brains. My feelings're now nerves which have been torn out. Beyond the hole between my legs, the flesh torn turned and gnashed, inside that red mash or mess, lies a woman. No one ever ventures here.'
Her friends, aghast at femininity, determined to burn it out.
Meanwhile, Don Quixote, having found the only true remedy for human pain, fell asleep."
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