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from Brown Corpus
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Not by the 11:00 sun which had spread a warmth around his spot of grass in the English Gardens and sent him off to sleep ; ;
but by a blond girl in a sweater and skirt who stood a few yards off and tenderly regarded him.
Should she wake him??
She didn't have the heart.
Her heart, her maternal feeling, in fact her being was too busy expressing itself, as quietly thrilled by this sight of her Nicolas curled asleep under a blanket, in a park like a scene from Poussin.
She was just not able to break the spell.
( Would she have been able to had she known that the blanket belonged to a young ballet dancer Nicolas had found his first night in one of Walter's marked bars??
Nicolas: `` Look, Nicolas doesn't go to bed with boys -- no sex, see??
So if all these beers was to get me in bed, man, you just spent a lot of money ''.
Ballet dancer: Protests, tears, and `` take what you want, Nicolas, I am a dancer, you are a poet, it is all beautiful ''.
To this meek conjugation Nicolas had replied, `` O.K. I can use this blanket.
And when you get off this job tonight, well, you can gimme something to eat ''.
And, as a matter of fact, Nicolas had slept in the park only part of one night, when he discovered that Munich's early mornings even in summer are laden with dew.
He had always known how to find a bed, and on his own terms.
He used the blanket for late morning naps when hosts of the night had gone off to jobs and proved reluctant to leave him in their small rooms with their few possessions.
Mary Jane Lerner knew none of this.
) Her Nicolas lay curled in the sun like a fawn, black hair falling over his eyes.
She was telling herself that this might just be her reward at the end of a long meaningful search for truth.
This was surely a reunion in art, it was all that poetry promised.

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