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I had managed to hire at Nice a great old-fashioned traveling carriage a relic of pre-railway days. By way of a parting dissipation I picked up the R s at their villa, and took them with me as far as San Remo. There I joined the train, the R s going back in the carriage. Next morning I was at Cadennabia, and Monte Carlo and the system, and Beaulieu and its Buginvillæas, were behind me.
We could not tear ourselves away until sunset; and by the time we had dressed for dinner, the rising moon had traced a path of silver from shore to shore, across the pansy-purple water, where the lights of Cadennabia were sending golden ladders down to the bottom of the lake.
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