What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. 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. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. ” “I had to,” she repeated. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. "I don't know," she answered vaguely.
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