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“Why?” “I still love you. Beneath that tree let us lie. ’ ‘No, and I do not wish to do so,’ Melusine pointed out. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. His eyes were closed. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. “Yeah, I’ve heard that story.
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