His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. As for me, I look twice at it.
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