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Nearer, the mountains of Pardo stood out with their dark peaks, black with pines, and to the left stretched out the slopes of the hills of the Casa de Campo, where the first yellow touches of spring were beginning to show. At his feet lay the fields of Moncloa, the antique little gardens, the grove of Viveros, bordering the stream.
"Two and one is three and three is six and the 'Baedeker' and the umbrellas," said the girl. "No, I don't have to look in the address book. I have it by heart. Casa Frolli, the Zattera." Then the roar of the train split into the sharp cries of the facchinos that carried them forward like an explosion into Venice as it rose statelily from the rippling lustre.
When you go home to America, then you send me the money." "Were you never cheated?" we asked. "No," he answered, "I trust American many time. American always pay, but me not trust Frenchman; Frenchman forget." Glad to know that our countrymen bear such a good reputation, we took the book without giving our names, merely telling him that we were staying at the Casa Nova and would pay the next day.
Casa Guidi The Brownings Giotto's missing spire James Russell Lowell Lander's early life Fra Bartolommeo before Raphael The Tuscan gardener The "Villa Landor" to-day Storms on the hillside Pastoral poetry Italian memories in England The final outburst Last days in Florence The old lion's beguilements The famous epitaph.
He walked on slowly. The doctor hobbled by his side till, within a stone's throw from the Casa Viola, Nostromo stopped again. Silent in inhospitable darkness, the Casa Viola seemed to have changed its nature; his home appeared to repel him with an air of hopeless and inimical mystery. The doctor said "You will be safe there. Go in, Capataz." "How can I go in?"
The priest asked, hardly moving his lips: "What do you trust to?" I had the time to meditate my reply. "Tell Carlos I think of escape by sea." He made a little sign of assent, turned off towards the staircase, and went back to the sick room. "The folly of it," I thought. How could I think of it? Escape where? I dared not even show myself outside the Casa.
If we compare it for a moment with the heraldic shield in Casa Martelli, where Donato has carved in relief a winged griffin rampant, cruel and savage, with all the beauty and vigour of Verrocchio, we shall understand something of his failure in the Marzocco, and something, too, of his success.
They passed in through a gateway to the narrow terrace that fronted the Casa del Mare facing Vesuvius, entered the house, traversed a little hall, came out again into the air by a door on its farther side, and made their way to a small pavilion that looked upon the Pool of San Francesco. Almost immediately below, in the cool shadow of the cliff, the boat was moored.
The latter had come to Italy with his family, on the invitation of Byron and Shelley, to join in a periodical to be called The Liberal. On 8 July Shelley, with his two companions, embarked to return to Casa Magni. Towards half-past six in the evening a sudden and tremendous squall sprang up.
The Operai of Vercelli, I was told, bought the palace a few years ago, restored the noble hall, and devoted a smaller room to a collection of pictures valuable for students of the early Vercellese style of painting. Of these there is no need to speak. The great hall is the gem of the Casa Mariano. It has a coved roof, with a large flat oblong space in the centre of the ceiling.
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