Grip: A Memoir of Fierce Attractions

Formalized horses-pert upright ears, flaring nostrils, arched necks, manes that rose as if the wind were blowing through them, but manes that never moved.

So long as there is laughter, so long as there is warmth and light, so long as there is soft flesh, fresh and sweet-smelling like no perfume ever made, so long as there is a breast to cup and a thigh to caress.

These old ladies with their bouncy thick-soled shoes. Bruck turned-he had barely nodded at the secretary general.