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stopped by a house; I realized that a friend of mine resided there
            too.  I  was  mumbling  and  stammering  for  a  while  when  I
            managed to utter that there was a party coming up and I only
            wanted to invite my friend too, or what. Luckily, the guy did
            not show up and I could meet the beautiful girl again. She was
            young, and I became infatuated with her, her age, her smile, her
            timidity. We went out to Balatonakali to have dinner the next
            day,  to an ancient  vineyard,  the  house  that  was  built  into the
            hillside,  from  where  you  could  have  an  enchanting  view  on
            Lake  Balaton.  Still in  springtime  there had been a film being
            shot in Balatonfüred, they were producing the movie “A veréb
            is madár” (1968, translates as “The Sparrow is a Bird too”), in
            which I was an extra, together with a friend. We were tasked to
            gather boys and girls from the beach and from elsewhere for the
            film.  This  same  movie  group  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  the
            aforementioned  vineyard  house,  where  there  was  a  restaurant
            operating  under  the  table.  Two  dishes  were  available:  a
            complete and a half complete one, in other words, freshly fried
            selection of sausages with salads or the half of it respectively.
            There was lively gipsy  music too: two gipsies played bravely
            whatever they could, dressed in torn, white shirts and trousers.
            The  nights  had  all  their  beauty  with  candlelit  tables.  When  I
            went there with Kate in August, everything went by the book,
            the  gipsies  wore  new  steel-blue  suits, together  with  the  usual
            torn,  white  shirts,  and  everything  was  a  size  bigger  than
            necessary.
                   Three days after our initial meeting, we hopped into my
            car again to gather the beach party from Balatonakarattya and
            Balatonkenese.  But  God  decided  otherwise.  We  never  found
            them. We left Balatonkenese and headed towards Balatonfűzfő,
            when all of sudden a Moskvitch (Russian made car) rushed in
            from a byway, without even looking around. I sped up to finish
            overtaking it, since I could not slow down, but I reached an S-
            turn  on  high  speed  and  another  car  was  coming  frontally.  A
            scream, Kate grabbed my right hand, and it was unavoidable to



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