I might as well love the moon

This count of mine has a thin, spare form. It is something above the common height were he not to bend forward with his chin and chest. From his eyes, you see the ebb and flow of his feelings like the tides of the sea. This brings me to my point. I play the bottom line in a two part fugue with my brother and realise I could have an affair with the moon in which there would be neither sin nor shame. I derive the greatest pleasure from my thoughts and will share them with my good friend Katherl Gilowska. She is in need of a gossip, having been ill in bed for a whole week and unfit for target practice. N.