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A young girl's cry stirred the air, a big hat turned the corner of the road, a clear laugh rose from the rain-torn eglantines; then hearts beat when, in the bright dog-days, the black barns softened the clucking of the hens under the scarlet sky of the south. ...This guitar or another I heard in the courtyard of my Huguenot great-aunts, one summer's evening when I was four years old.
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