Oh, you cannot escape from it. I'll call it my wedding gift. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “I meant it. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape.
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