It opened and a nun’s head popped out. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. 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. ” At this point she had perceived that she was drifting from her subject. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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