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. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it.
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