Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 96: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ft ff / TAWER AT VOILE fai ey! ; Sy ant Fee « ie FROM THE MEMOIRS OF THE QUEEN OF FLORANIA CHAPTER XIII. AT THE END OF THE DAY. OW shall I describe that day with WH Peter? I simply can’t. It was a day of dreams, a day of sunshine and laughter and hidden tears. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. And between the middle and the end came a very bad moment, much longer than the proverbial quarter of an hour. There are some pictures that stand out in that dav in my memory—pictures that I can recapture, like jewels of brilliant hues threaded on a silver string, like a bunch of field flowers, like the murmur of a moun- tain stream, like a distant view of moun- tains, rose and pearl in the sunset. There was Italy—the frontier, a rough road leading up to the mountains, a road that became a gorge, a river rushing through, swift and gray and dusted with spume, straight from the eternal snows. There was a shrine of Our Lady of the Snows up a deep, dark little valley that in winter never sees the sun. There were vine- yards and olive groves and orange and lemon plantations. There was the subtle, unbelievably sweet scent of fields of violets. There was a hill village, dominated by an ancient ruined castle with four great towers —all the same coloring, castle, village, rocks, a deep slate gray, casting wonderful pur- ple shadows. There was a walk—the car stabled in a huge, shadowed courtyard belonging to the inn—a walk among high, flower starred meadows, hand in hand, heart in heart. This story began in the Argosy-Allstory Weekly for April 12. 886 COMIC doo! C©