"But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. 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. Hopefully. I’ll protect you!” He cried. She did not resist him, she could not. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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