You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Melusine started back, blinking. shouldn’t be friends. 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. Forgive me, but you have been looking, have you not, for some employment?” “Quite true!” she answered.
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