The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. She wished to view Sebastian again if only to reaffirm that there was a human being whose appearance remained unaltered by the vagaries of time and memory. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around.
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