Quite right. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. 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. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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