And she drew my face down and pressed her lips against mine to stop my words. Her lips were cold, but they hung upon mine. I too was perfectly cold, as of mortal chill. And the coldness was the final horror of the act which we performed, as though two dolls should parody the shame and filth of man to make it doubly shameful. — Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men. (Harcourt Brace September 1, 1996) Originally published 1946.