There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. At least for one moment, it was. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. Married the other and ran off after Mary died.
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