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And then Carmelo sang, loud and clearly, the song he had been singing before, one of those artless Mediterranean ballads, full of caressing vowel-sounds, and young passion, and melancholy beauty: "M'ama ancor, belta fulgente, Come tu m'amasti allor; Ascoltar non dei gente, Solo interroga il tuo cor." ... "He sing-a nicee, mucha bueno!" murmured the fisherman.
Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of gazing at what she called his "belta folgorante," and the delicacy of his features. She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, as she herself attracted him by the grace of hers.
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