I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I was doing it. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers and say, ‘Smooth as piano keys,’ and she would stroke my chin with her finger and say, ‘Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.’ ‘Is it rough?’ ‘No, darling. I was just making fun of you. ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

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I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I was doing it. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers and say, ‘Smooth as piano keys,’ and she would stroke my chin with her finger and say, ‘Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.’ ‘Is it rough?’ ‘No, darling. I was just making fun of you. ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I was doing it. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers and say, ‘Smooth as piano keys,’ and she would stroke my chin with her finger and say, ‘Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.’ ‘Is it rough?’ ‘No, darling. I was just making fun of you. ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I was doing it. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers and say, ‘Smooth as piano keys,’ and she would stroke my chin with her finger and say, ‘Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.’ ‘Is it rough?’ ‘No, darling. I was just making fun of you.
― Ernest Hemingway,

A Farewell to Arms

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