The students passed Juicy Fruit sticks and notes back and forth, bartering various forms of social currency. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing.
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