前言: 小爱啊!谢谢你的Vega,解救了我的小说之痛,决定用这首歌儿当题材写小说! the ceiling had a painting on it in our room in France so we were living underneath some angels in a dance my husband was not feeling well and so we went to bed he woke up complaining of an aching in his head he said a hundred people had come through our room that night that one by one the old and young asked if he was all right one by one the old and young lined up to touch his hand he spent the night explaining they had come to the wrong man the concierge was less than helpful when we asked her the next day with coffee and a magazine we went to the desk to pay "what happened in that room?" he asked "a death or something strange?" she smiled at him politely and returned to him his change well, what I'd like to know and this will be a mystery is with all the people in that room why none appeared to me? when we sleep so close together that our hair becomes entwined I must have missed that moment in the gateway to his head -- ｉｔ’ｓ　ｇｒｅａｔｆｕｌ　ｗｈｅｎ　ｕ’ｒｅ　 ｄｅａｄ