Henry Miller


Moloch or, This Gentile World

"A pale finger of light invaded the room upstairs. They undressed in the tense silence, shy and oppressed by the heavy gloom in which the room seemed to float. In the dark nuptial loam which they had rediscovered their desires expanded and fructified. Scalding tears trickled down the white of his flesh and caressed him. They were her tears. They burned into the lymph and tissue of his organism until they were identified with the adulterous specters of forgotten loves ... "

(Grove Press, 1992. Page 241.)

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