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> Byron was (or, had been) a man in his seventies with thick white hair sprouting from his face and head.
==He was naked, except for the sheet I kept wrapped around his lower half to protect I’m not sure what.
Postmortem decency, I suppose.
His eyes, staring up into the abyss, had gone flat like deflated balloons.
If a lover’s eyes are a clear mountain lake, Byron’s were a stagnant pond.
His mouth twisted open in a silent scream.== --Smoke Gets in Your Eyes - Caitlin Doughty