\" He looked crestfallen. “I cannot keep silence any longer. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. He might miss at this distance. 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. . . So there is no escape. " "I see.
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