She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. I don’t idealize you. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. Her confession was still unmade. .
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