He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow.
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