“Yes?” he said. ” He ducked out. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. ‘Imbecile.
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