And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. My nerves were in rags. I just thought perhaps a different boy was in store for you. I'll put them in your room; then we'll have a look-see. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door.
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