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There was a lady with a young man and a young girl, who were evidently her children. The lady has once been beautiful, and still bears the traces of that beauty, though her face indicates the extreme of sadness. The son is a man of magnificent appearance, though as yet not full-grown. The daughter is more lovely than any being whom I have ever seen. She is different from my Bicetta.
"Very," returned Beatrice, musingly. "He always called me 'Bice' sometimes 'Bicetta, 'Bicinola, 'Bicina; it was his pretty Italian way. But oh, if you could hear him play! He could make the violin speak like a human voice. He used to think in music. He seemed to me to be hardly human sometimes." "And he loved to hear you sing?" said Brandon, in the same voice.
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