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fortnight — her heart cold to all the beauty around her, and
melancholy and discouraged because it did not warm her as before.
One morning she went to Rome. The ground was white
with frost all the way down through Toscana; in the middle of
the day the frosty mist lifted and the sun shone — and she saw
again a spot she had never forgotten: the lake of Trasimene
lying pale blue, surrounded by the mountains. A point of land
projected into the water, with towers and pinnacles of a small
stone-grey town, with a cypress avenue leading from the station.
She arrived at Rome in pouring rain. Gunnar was on the
platform to meet her, and he squeezed her hands as he wished
her welcome. He went on talking and laughing all the time as
they drove from the station to the quarters he had engaged for
her, the rain splashing against the cab from the grey sky and
from the street paving.
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