" "Only three days," reiterated the widow, "three short short days,—and then all is over. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. “I am lonely. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. CHAPTER XXIII. 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. ” “Anything except that,” he murmured.
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