Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. “For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. A fortnight passed, then a month. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be.
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