The old books never spoke of love that was patient or undemanding; they spoke of love fueled solely by bodily desires, of the need to be ravished now, now, now. But how could she know how it felt to be kissed on the mouth, let alone ravished now, now, now? How was she to know which was the better love? Perhaps the point of waiting was that once she and Salwa married, that was how it would be, that other love, now, now, now, every hour, every day, until they were eventually replete? But why did he wait so completely? Why not at least let her have a taste of things to come? Isn’t desire
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