“You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times. 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. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha.
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