This is no place for me. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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