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‘Never mind where. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. 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.
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