When we are walking, we are talking, not separated by the blare of the car radio. Along the shaded streets of Claremont, we breathe the fragrance of honeysuckle, observe the Arts and Crafts-style bungalows, and notice the peek-a-boo American Girl doll perched in one of the windows. After a train ride to LA, we feel swallowed by the cathedral-high ceilings, burnished leather arm chairs, and Spanish-tiled floors, all soaked in the amber light of Union Station.
Boston Globe
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