𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓; 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆.
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Romance𝑰𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒂 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆...
