47, straightening her hat and waiting for her luggage to appear. 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. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals.
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