And then when all around grows dark when we feel utterly alone when all men right and left pass us by and know us not a forgotten feeling rises in the breast.
At the beginning and at the end of love the two lovers are embarrassed to find themselves alone.
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I have three phobias which could I mute them would make my life as slick as a sonnet but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed I hate to get up and I hate to be alone.
