Part 7 As they came back from that day’s climb—it was up the Mittaghorn—they had to cross a shining space of wet, steep rocks between two grass slopes that needed a little care. She brought Sebastian’s chloroformed rag up to his face with her right. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. He became angry. I have a certain standing not only as a singer but as a critic, and I belong to one of the most brilliant causerie dinner clubs of the day, in which successful Bohemianism, politicians, men of affairs, artists, sculptors, and cultivated noblemen generally, mingle together in the easiest and most delightful intercourse.
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