Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. "To-morrow it will be mine. It took her only two towns away, near the Arby’s where Mike worked. But it was hopelessly hard to put. Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. 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.
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