On the street with the smell of linden trees, no house is the same. You can sense Doina’samong the branches of the walnut tree burdened with memories that reigns in the coquettish courtyard. No neighbor had ever crossed her threshold. They witnessed to her journey from blind angles: she had entered the landscape as a ruddy young woman. Then shadows: a dreamy young man, a pile of books, a charming …
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