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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"Twilight in Italy"

He was
covered with confusion and youthful anger.
But I called to her, tapped the table and called:
'_Mademoiselle!_'
She appeared flouncingly in the doorway.
'_Encore du lait pour les chameaux_,' I said.
And she whisked our glasses off the table, and flounced out without a
word.
But she would not come in again with the milk. A German girl brought it.
We laughed, and she smiled primly.
When we set forth again, Emil rolled up his sleeves and turned back his
shirt from his neck and breast, to do the thing thoroughly. Besides, it
was midday, and the sun was hot; and, with his bulky pack on his back,
he suggested the camel of the French maid more than ever.
We were on the downward slope. Only a short way from the hotel, and
there was the drop, the great cleft in the mountains running down from
this shallow pot among the peaks.
The descent on the south side is much more precipitous and wonderful
than the ascent from the north. On the south, the rocks are craggy and
stupendous; the little river falls headlong down; it is not a stream, it
is one broken, panting cascade far away in the gulley below, in
the darkness.


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