For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. ” She took his hand and smiled upon him.
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