But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. 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. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her.
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