The Gamblers by William Le Queux — Read

The great broad plain which lies between marble-built Pisa and the sea was flooded by the golden Italian sunset, and the background of the serrated Apennines loomed a dark purple in the distance as we approached the long breakwater which protects Leghorn from the sea.

Leaning over the rail, I gazed upon the white sun-blanched Tuscan town, and recognised the gay Passeggio, with its avenue of dusky tamarisks, its long rows of high white houses, with their green _persiennes_, and Pancaldi's, and other baths, built out upon the rocks into the sea. Years ago, when at the convent, we had gone there each summer, a dozen or so girls at a time, under the care of Suor Angelica, to obtain fresh air and escape for a fortnight or so from the intolerable heat of July in the Val d'Ema. How well I remembered that long promenade, the Viale Regina Margherita, best known to those happy, light-hearted, improvident Livornesi by its ancient name, the Passeggio! And what long walks we girls used to have over the rocks beyond Antignano, or scrambling climbs up to the shrine of the miracle-working Virgin at Montenero!