Nights of Paris... Gallant restaurant bustle... car horns... rumor of crowd at the door of happy places.
It is so easy to think badly of a woman...
The loving night above lovers tends from her sky the bridal canopy, night has set her clear diamonds in the velvet of a summer sky... The garden in shadows does not have colors, and in the mystery of its darkness, the folliage whisper, the flowers fragrance, and love a sweet desire to cry... [J. Benavente]
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