" "For shame, Mr. He will be sorry when he knows who I am,’ decided Melusine with satisfaction. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. She opened her eyes. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. 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.
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