This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. 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. Huge trees obscured the view of it. Don't build your hopes too high; but I will do what I can. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. You see, I’m separated from my wife. He turned just in time to see Lucilla exchange an amused look with Hilary.
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