She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. That’s the wonder of it. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. "I love her already. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. “Indeed, I must implore you to return.
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