“I will go,” he said. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. She noticed an odd new gleam in Michelle’s eyes, a focus she had not noticed before. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage.
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