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She can not "nothing" feel for you because it does there is nothing else but you. But in your presence, all borders are eliminated. It does not make. The spectrum of emotions was reduced to a small point: it's you against his heart, which the head, which clings to his shirt, under his arms outstretched, as she paces in the corridor to calm down, you under your scarf as she walks out - in fact it does not work, what are the houses, streets, trees, sky gliding around you. And the words flow over her in the same way. You, you do not know what that means.
She told Dorothy that she would rather not feel anything for you, but it was a way of speaking. Because it was wrong, that one, saying that before the fourth month it nothing would happen except exhaustion, a vague disgust, anger some slow, but your grandmother, who swore that this would instantly be the love was wrong too. In nearly three months you do not have it yet smiled: she fears that this is because of it, fails in its duty to separate for you the joy of sadness, fear of peace.
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