I do not love any one. “May I hear?” “It really isn’t much to tell,” Drummond answered. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. She could not realize what she saw. 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.
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