She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. She answered him with another kiss, long and deep. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. . 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. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat.
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