Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. F. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks.
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