In love. She remembered the
excitement of those days. The
sudden ecstasy of an unexpected
telephone call. The brilliance and
beauty of the most mundane
objects. Laughter over nothing,
shared across small candlelit tables;
walking together on sunlit
pavements; smelling lilac on a city
street; frizzing in his car down to
the country, with the sun roof open
to the sky and a whole weekend
ahead, and the sensation that there
was nobody in the world but the
two of them.
ROSAMUNDE PILCHER, b. 1924
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