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Chapter 4

           DonJosebecamequiteanimatedwithagreatflowofspeech,bendingforwardanxiouslyunderthesteadyeyesofhisdaughter.Decoud,asifsilencedbysomuchardour,didnotmakeasound.ThebellsofthecitywerestrikingthehourofOracionwhenthecarriagerolledundertheoldgatewayfacingtheharbourlikeashapelessmonumentofleavesandstones.Therumbleofwheelsunderthesonorousarchwastraversedbyastrange,piercingshriek,andDecoud,fromhisbackseat,hadaviewofthepeoplebehindthecarriagetrudgingalongtheroadoutside,allturningtheirheads,insombrerosandrebozos,tolookatalocomotivewhichrolledquicklyoutofsightbehindGiorgioViola’shouse,underawhitetrailofsteamthatseemedtovanishinthebreathless,hystericallyprolongedscreamofwarliketriumph.Anditwasalllikeafleetingvision,theshriekingghostofarailwayenginefleeingacrosstheframeofthearchway,behindthestartledmovementofthepeoplestreamingbackfromamilitaryspectaclewithsilentfootstepsonthedustoftheroad.ItwasamaterialtrainreturningfromtheCampotothepalisadedyards.Theemptycarsrolledlightlyonthesingletrack;therewasnorumbleofwheels,notremoroftheground

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