"I do indeed, Doris."
"We might get out here. I want you to see the view from the hilltop."
And, telling the driver that he need not follow us, to stay there and
rest his panting horse, we walked on. Whether Doris was thinking of
the view I know not; I only know that I thought only of kissing Doris.
To do so would be pleasant--in a way--even on this cold hillside, and
I noticed that the road bent round the shoulder of the mount. We soon
reached the hilltop, and we could see the road enter the village in
the dip between the hills, a double line of houses--not much
more--facing the sea, a village where we might go to have breakfast;
we might never go there; however that might be, we certainly should
remember that village and the road streaming out of it on the other
side towards the hills. Now and then we lost sight of the road; it
doubled round some rock or was hidden behind a group of trees; and
then we caught sight of it a little farther on, ascending the hills in
front of us, and no doubt on the other side it entered another
village, and so on around the coast of Italy. Even with the thought of
Doris's kisses in my mind, I could admire the road and the curves of
the bay. I felt in my pocket for a piece of paper and a pencil.
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