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...a shaded portico.
A late afternoon sun warmed the rough blocks of stone.
"Get out of the way!" someone called. We moved into the yard, squinting at the strong light.
One of them sat on a marble bench after I politely pushed some flowers aside. "Did you pick these for me?" she asked, looking me in the eye. I had to tell her the truth.
In another part of the grounds someone was singing, but they couldn't make out the words. Like children they soon became restless and impatient to see something new, so we went on to...
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