As he drew nearer to her, he plunged deeper into her enveloping soft
warmth, a wonderful creative heat that penetrated his veins and gave
him life again. He felt himself dissolving and sinking to rest in the
bath of her living strength. It seemed as if her heart in her breast
were a second unconquerable sun, into the glow and creative strength of
which he plunged further and further. All his veins, that were murdered
and lacerated, healed softly as life came pulsing in, stealing
invisibly in to him as if it were the all-powerful effluence of the
sun. His blood, which seemed to have been drawn back into death, came
ebbing on the return, surely, beautifully, powerfully.
He felt his limbs growing fuller and flexible with life, his body
gained an unknown strength. He was a man again, strong and rounded. And
he was a child, so soothed and restored and full of gratitude.
And she, she was the great bath of life, he worshipped her. Mother and
substance of all life she was. And he, child and man, received of her
and was made whole.
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