“I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s.
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