Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. A nine days’ wonder is soon forgotten. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid.
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