It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. 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. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding.
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