" CHAPTER XIII. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious.
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