Times Dies

A short paragraph that I did not include in the final text of the novel: Love? Was that what it is? He thought of it uneasily. Hypnotic absorption in each other, perhaps, and in the mutual intoxication of their success - bit it isn't necessarily love. Love is calm and even and lasting, and you pay for it with a dedicated lifetime, but it wouldn't pay, perhaps. He stopped. It was no good, thinking about those times. Time dies with each passing minute.