” He said as they parted company. Kneebone nodded. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died. 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. Be kind to her.
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