The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. I saw their boat swept away, and heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was present, could doubt the result. Annabel, I was lying. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. .
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