“And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. Other things came. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece.
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