” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head.
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