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He knew early on when in response, he had said to her they walking into the light off the placid morning water, "You are the light of my life". She didn't get it. She poo-pooed it. "It's from a hit-song of long ago", he said. "It's in jest. Take nothing I say serious." He always had to say that. Everything he said could be a joke. He took nothing seriously and neither should they. But it spelled trouble. A huge language gulf. And she was too serious.
Morning Malta, and a gorgeous day it is, yada-yada. She called me Saturday early just after eight. I couldn't believe it. Come down at nine and get you herbs. We dickered about the time a-bit. I was just about to work. I changed into a nice-looking outfit. She was going to do furniture something and some kind of class all day. So it had to be now if I was to see her. The door was open. I was to walk in and get my herbs, which would be by the door, if she wasn't there, but only the painter.
The furniture was all backwards and away from the wall. No herbs. The desk backwards, and I looked over there. There they were, and so was she down the hall, a view from there and she was walking toward me. I gave her a big-adoration Hello. There were instructions. I had to write them down. I flirted shamelessly again. I told her I wanted to talk to her. I tried to make myself needed or at least asset-able. This is very important. You must do this correctly. So I am watching the clock.
(8 of 17)
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