As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. 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. “Certainly. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. Wood.
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