“I hope nothing is wrong. ’ She struggled. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. I was a novelty.
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