” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. For freedom at least. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. The boy was coming around.
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