As for the boy I remember his image before his actual body (that will clear itself up later), while now I am sure I remember the woman’s body much better than the image. She was thin and willowy, two unfair words to describe what she was, and was wearing an almost-black fur coat, almost long, almost handsome. All the morning’s wind (now it was hardly a breeze and it wasn’t  cold) had blown through her blonde hair which pared away her white, bleak face — two unfair words — and put the world at her feet and horribly alone in front of her dark eyes, her eyes fell on things like two eagles, two leaps into nothingness, two puffs of green slime. I’m not describing it. And I said two puffs of green slime.

Blow-Up, Julio Cortázar

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