“I have a message from your sister. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. 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.
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