the most dishonorable coldness occurs. parades are passed by with poor salutes in this month of slumber. deaf-mute, she does not say, but runs naked; ablaze in the adjacent court, as you yell yourself. there were guests, cakes were passed, and cold simulated. you will recall sequential heights; happy and pink-cheeked, you subjugated it with a hot head, but now you lie. you drink tea with the aroma of mulled wine, as if everything in life is made.