She sat perfectly still, however. “I do,” he answered. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil. You’re a good friend. 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. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine.
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