Daughters were in the air that day. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. 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. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too.
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