Spring: -I- -II- -III-
The Stamp Album: -IV- -V- -VI- -VII- -VIII- -IX- -X- -XI- -XII-
In the Municipal Park: -XIII- -XIV- -XV- -XVI-
Springtime Twilight: -XVII-
The Villa: -XVIII- -XIX- -XX- -XXI- (XXII) -XXIII- -XXIV- -XXV- -XXVI- -XXVII-
Bianka’s Lineage: -XXVIII- -XXIX- -XXX- -XXXI- -XXXII- -XXXIII-
Hiatus: -XXXIV- -XXXV- -XXXVI- -XXXVII-
Finale: -XXXVIII- -XXXIX- -XL-
XXII
I HAVE thoroughly expored the vicinity of the estate. I have circled several times that whole immense terrain secured by a high fence. The white walls of the villa, with its terraces and immense verandas, were revealed to me in continually new aspects. Beyond it a park extends, passing then into a treeless plain. Strange buildings stand there — half factories, half farm buildings. I put my eye to a chink in the fence, and only a trick of the light can have given rise to what I glimpsed there. In the villa’s spring atmosphere, rarefied by the heat, faraway things appeared many times over, mirrored through entire miles of shimmering air. And still my head is splitting from the most contradictory thoughts. I must consult the stamp album.
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