A Hilltop on the Marne

Mildred Aldrich

Capitolo 4

west that extends from the dine-room.  It is a confuses of roofs and
fireplaces, and it seems a lot of the houses I combined from mine
The box of Ark of Noah in the days of my infancy.

All the rooms on the ground floor are paved in red tiles and the
staircase is built right in the saloon.  The ceilings are raftered.  The
I cross-radiate her/it in the saloon he/she fills my soul with joy--it is on a wide foot
and a foot and a thick mean.  The walls and the joists are painted
green,--my color,--and so good, from long test, for my eyes and my
nerves and my disposition.

But very as all this I like it, it was not this that has attracted here me.
That was the situation.  The house is standing in a small garden, it separated
from the road from an old knotty hedge of filbert.  Almost it is on the
crest of the hill on the southern bank of the Marne,--the hill that is the
water-shed among the Marne and the Great Morin. Only here the Marne
ago a marvelous slipknot, and it is only fifteen minutes they estrange from mine
controls, down the hill to the north.

From the lawn, on the side of north of the house I command a panorama
what I have seen rarely equalized.  To me it is more beautiful than that
we have looked together with from the balcony to so often Saint-Germain.
In the west the new part of the scalings of Esbly the hill, and from there to a
reduces to a hillock to the northeast I have a wide sight of the valley of the Marne,
supported by a low line of hills that I/you/they am the water-shed among the Marne
and the Aisne.  Low down in the valley, to the northwest it lies de lies
Villenoy as a city of toy where the great spans of bridge the Marne to bring
the railroad in Meaux.  On the line of horizon to the west the tall one
fireplaces of the push of the wave of Claye flank of smoke in the air.  In the close-up
to the north, to the foot of the hill the roofs of two are little
hamlets,--Joncheroy and Voisins,--and over them the trees that confine with
the channel.

On the other side of the Marne the swaying hill, with his/her breadth
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