mal speed. trabaria.  locked t of eness, t a bed beed Urbino ies and towns similar.

    o. Into Gabicce Mare, er, near ue aken. t  day.

    Dear Clara—Dear Maman, Maman is a Frencing cuddles, a personal  can be even sed in public.

    Someting and as eternal as a barge. t, I knoill a canoe. Can ser a creek in seconds. Still independent. Still private. Not a barge responsible for all around you. t letter in years, Clara, and I am not used to ty of t t fealk  used to talking in any  t now.

    t? For a second I forget. But I knoer  ionalize tionalize anything.

    Patrick died in a dove-cot in France. In France in teenteenturies t t his.

    tal line one-t ledge—to stop rats running up t. A sacred place. Like a cing place. Patrick died in a comforting place.

    At five a.m. riumpo life, and t. ill in darkness, still unable to distinguisa beyond to t  route.  came o double ill ahead of him.

    Around ternoon ona,  began to rain and opped to put on a rubber cape. ness. Noer flung onto s from t  think of her.

    , pulled to concentrate. If to be  be aly hrough.

    . It sits on trol tank facing  over ryside t receding palace of strangers on talian . “And my  depart out of t of t of tient sang Isaiao  afternoon o see e  till t into ted room. “Bey captivity, and ly turn and toss to a large country.” o tion ended. Isaiaever o o too.

    t mont of air in front of  t sea in iff, cold, so t from timately, te spray of it as ar, a ation  d t, and t t of