He had chosen his time well. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. 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. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen.
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