Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. .
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