The grass had grown long and dense in the cloudy English spring, and the silver racing coupe – a lean, lithe-limbed thing – lay low in it with the muscular ease of a young lioness. I stood at an uneasy distance, as if teetering between the pull of helpless enchantment and the fear of something wild and dangerous.
Why do we fall in love with a particular automobile? Here’s how it happened for me, once long ago.
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