‘Hilary was right. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. 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. ” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me.
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