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Excerpt from Mademoiselle Mori: A Tale of Modern Rome One Sunday evening in October, the English congregation were pouring out of the room which served them as a church, outside the Porta del Popolo. The English season at Rome had just begun. A long file of carriages was waiting, and they successively came up to the door, and drove off, either to various residences, or to the Pincian Hill. The walkers turned into the gardens of Villa Borghese, the gates of which stood invitingly open close at hand; or crossed the Piazza, and fell into the crowd in the three streets branching from it. Some ascended the Pincian Hill, which the Italians, ever dreading the unhealthy hour of sunset, were already leaving; so that there was a double stream of vehicles and foot-passengers, one descending and the other ascending the winding way. Ample as the road was, it hardly contained the crowds tempted out by the fine afternoon to this charming place, once the Collis Hortulorum, and still a region...

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