t’s true that music makes people more in love, keep playing. Give me too much of it, so I’ll get sick of it and stop loving. Play that part again! It sounded sad. Oh, it sounded like a sweet breeze blowing gently over a bank of violets, taking their scent with it. That’s enough. Stop. It doesn’t sound as sweet as it did before.
That’s what I’m doing—only it’s my heart that’s being hunted. Oh, when I first saw Olivia, it seemed like she made the air around her sweeter and purer. In that instant I was transformed into a hart, and my desire for her has hounded me like a pack of vicious dogs.
I’m sorry, but they wouldn’t let me in. But I got the following answer from her handmaid. Olivia’s not going to show her face for the next seven years—not even to the sky itself. Instead, she’ll go around veiled like a nun, and once a day she’ll water her room with tears. She’s doing this out of love for her dead brother, whom she wants to keep fresh in her memory forever.
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