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. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. “For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. . “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall.
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