So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day.
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