Her beauty. 

The grace of air breathing in the hair and the gleam of sunshine glowing on the face were the kind of beauty he admired. The kind of smile of the genuine heart and of the muslin that embraced the art were the only richness he marvelled at. We only pray that his hopes do not lead in dismay for the kind of truth he harboured in mind was not readily available in the present world.                     

                       The jealous hearts are the most poisonous of all for they endorse only hypocrisy. The innocence that lies so deeply hidden is nearly impossible to trace. There resides virtue in places so common to us that we overlook it more often for its the elaborated frill that most catches our eye. In a matter of such oblivion, its only his truest nature that can discover the beauty of that kind.

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