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If nothing but my death or ruin can suffice for my atonement, I will sacrifice either with joy; yes, I'll proclaim my passion aloud, proclaim it at Bellfont, own the dear criminal flame, fly to my Philander's aid and be undone; for thus I cannot, no, I will not live, I rave, I languish, faint and die with pain; say that you live, oh, say but that you live, say you are coming to the meadow behind the garden-grove, in order to your approach to my arms: oh, swear that all your vows are true; oh, swear that you are Sylvia's; and in return, I will swear that I am yours without reserve, whatever fate is destined for your
The Villa is a slender strip of Paradise, a mile long; it is rapture to walk in it, and it comes, in description, to be a garden-grove, with feathery palms, Greekish temples, musical fountains, white statues of the gods, and groups of fair girls in spring silks.
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