The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. 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. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. Manning called.
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