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[FLOWER-general] ambiguously

From: Tom Holman
Subject: [FLOWER-general] ambiguously
Date: Sun, 10 Sep 2006 02:25:18 +0300

Some beggars began to close in about the coach whining.
Just at the turn, signore, he cried, turning to Vincent. They heard the muffled bells ofunseen chapels ringing through it. I love you, said Anthony and kissed his dirty, smeared old face. Then he threw his cloak around his shoulders.
Perhaps, said he after a little, a host might be permitted tooffer his guest an arm. And Vincent had saidhe was drunk on new wine.
But underneath was poverty, the poverty of nature.
Over ten years, replied the priest reluctantly. But underneath was poverty, the poverty of nature. That willdo, I think, Pietro, said he to the urchin at the spit. He must not be drunk, noteven upon old wine.
It was silk, and you know, signore, eventhe aged MUST eat occasionally. On that magnificent early August morning Pisa was magical.
They brokeout into a clamorous shout when Aristide climbed onto the box. There are not many who can afford to be buried here now, he addedwith a strange touch of pride. But the accent,your Latin accent is terrific. His face looked drawn andtransparent and he tottered a little. He had neverrealized how poor and how barren Italy was. But I do not think the policeare going to help.
To me you are no longer a stranger here,he continued still holding on to Anthonys arm. Just then the back hood was let down by an armreaching around out of the window.
But you must not suppose I wasthinking ONLY of that, signore. He had left in his vest and shirt-sleeves. They sold the old team and bought four new horses.
The bell has just struck nine, I believe, answered the oldgentleman with a little quaver.
Indeed, nearlyeverybody was just waiting to be included. Youre drunk, laughed Vincent as he stumbled down the corridorafter him.
Open the door and let in the sunlight, bawled Vincent.
And Anthony knew at once why John Bonnyfeather had asked to beburied at Pisa. The first day of the trip by which he had set such great store hadbeen disappointing.
The old woman who had just split open the fourth chicken broke intoa lament.
It was the first of thelocal harvest and only lately pressed.
It is over here, signore, close by the way out.

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