Like some impassioned conquistador, driven mad from the heat and humidity of the deepest jungle, I slashed my way through the vines and undergrowth and longed to lay siege to her city, that legendary city of gold that all boys my age know must exist. For, behind the walls of that city, was a secret garden where nightingales sang, fountains laughed beneath the stars and plump, pendulous fruits strained at the bending branches of trees. And, enclosed behind the high walls of her most secret garden, grew the rarest of flowers which opened its velvet petals and unfolded its musty fragrance beneath the yellow moon.
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