“Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. His car was there. 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. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. Hill was seated. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. That’s Italians for you.
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