” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. “Mary Lucia. ” She said, embarrassed. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned.
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