Without taking a seat, the novelist said, "I always have a look at the
mountains, at this time of the day, Mr. King--would you care to come?
These mountains are the real thing, you know, and well worth
seeing--particularly at this hour." There was a gentle softness in his
deep voice, now--as unlike his usual speech as his physical appearance was
unlike that of his younger companion.
Aaron King arose quickly. "Thank you, Mr, Lagrange; I will go with
pleasure."
Accompanied by the dog, they followed the avenue, under the giant pepper
trees that shut out the sky with their gnarled limbs and gracefully
drooping branches, to the edge of the little city; where the view to the
north and northeast was unobstructed by houses. Just where the street
became a road, Conrad Lagrange--putting his hand upon his companion's
arm--said in a low voice, "This is the place."
Behind them, beautiful Fairlands lay, half lost, in its wilderness of
trees and flowers. Immediately in the foreground, a large tract of
unimproved land brought the wild grasses and plants to their very feet.
Beyond these acres--upon which there were no trees--the orange groves were
massed in dark green blocks and squares; with, here and there, thin rows
of palms; clumps of peppers; or tall, plume-like eucalyptus; to mark the
roads and the ranch homes.
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