“I remember when you walked me home. Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer. 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 had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said.
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