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Updated: June 6, 2025
"And I suppose he must have heard you speak English," Annunziata added. "He lives at the presbytery." "And where, by-the-by, do you live?" asked the lady. "I live at the presbytery too," said Annunziata. "I am the niece of the parroco. I am the orphan of his only brother. My friend Prospero lives with us as a boarder. He is English." "Indeed?" said the lady.
But, by way of compensation, its windows opened southwards, flooding it with sunshine, and commanding the wonderful perspective of the valley, the blue-grey hills, the snow-peaks, the blossoming low-lands, and the far-away opalescence that you knew to be the lake. At noon the parroco, his niece Annunziata, and his boarder met to dine.
The parroco was a short, stout, florid, black-haired, hawk-nosed, fierce-looking, still youngish man, if five-and-forty may be reckoned youngish, with a pair of thin lips and powerful jaws which, for purposes of speech, he never opened if he could help it.
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