At the end of their hectic lives, those two Sevillian tenorios longed to fan the cold embers of the passion of a yesterday in the past. They did so enraptured by the daughters of mothers whom they perhaps loved in a past that they judged pluperfect in their longing nostalgia. They were two Machadian Guidos leaning out of the casino window of that mercantile circle where they were privileged observers of the official race through which the bustling crowd of a dressed-up Seville paraded
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