’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. “It is nothing of any importance. 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. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss.
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