She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. Wood in their favour. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair.
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