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. " "Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay.
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