I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. ‘Possibly,’ he said. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story.
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