"The primeval fire of earth at their hearts, " murmured Anne.

She was expressing something more than just the thrill of a concert.

Instead, I looked down nervously at the sidewalk and snarled, "My accountant will be sending you an invoice and a self-addressed stamped envelope."

In Burnt Norton, written nearly a lifetime before the internet, T S Eliot wrote: "Not here the darkness, in this twittering world".

Actually I fell in "like", but his sweeping romantic gestures and dramatic language - tossing "amour, amour" around all the time - whirled me up in my first French "love" affair.