I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. The ladder was now within reach. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. You can’t go. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes.
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