E. my first symphony!” Brown’s eyebrows rose skeptically. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. "In Canton. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish.
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