Sometimes in the morning, when it was absorbed by a solitary task, just busy picking mushrooms or raspberries, or sewing, or reading a book of philosophy that bothered him, but he had to cultivate for himself, or read with interest the letter and ashamed of the heart or a women's weekly horoscope, she got suddenly whispered tenderly two words, without meaning to, without thinking of him. My love, she got on murmur. You see, my darling, "she said then the absentee, you see, even when I do not think about you, that I think of you.
A. Cohen ,
Belle du Seigneur
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