“Am I dull?” she said. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn.
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