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The Girl Who Rode the Wind
The Girl Who Rode the Wind
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The Girl Who Rode the Wind

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I looked in all the cupboards downstairs but of ‌course there was no food in the house.

“You’ll have to go into town, Lola,” Nonna said. “It’s not far from here – about twenty minutes’ walk.”

She took out a pen and a piece of paper from her handbag. “Here is the road.” Nonna drew me a map. “You go along until you see a small stream with a narrow bridge over it, and then you turn the corner and go over another bridge and you reach an avenue of tall trees … they take you to an arched gateway called Porta Ovile.”

She sketched the city walls around the archway with crenellations on top of it like a castle. “Behind the high walls follow your nose through the streets and you’ll reach the piazza. There’s a marketplace with stalls selling fruit and bread and cheese. You can buy us food there.”

“Nonna,” I said. “You haven’t lived here for seventy years. I don’t think there’s still going to be a market stall in the same place there was when you were a girl.”


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