Summary
Ramon del Valle-Inclan: Sonata
Memories of the Marquis de Bradomin
Night was falling when the mail coach passed through the Salirian Gate and sank into a field filled with secrets and distant murmurs. It was a typical field under vineyards and olive groves, with ruined aqueducts and lovely undulating hills resembling a woman's breasts. The post coach moved along the old road: the draft mules pulled hard on the halters, and the cheerful and uneven sound of chatter echoed among the blossoming olive trees. Old tombstones lined the road, and gloomy cypresses cast their dignified shadows over them. The post coach was gliding along the old road, and my eyes, tired of looking into the dark night, were closing in sleep.
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