‘But lay him down. You really are extremely stupid, Melusine. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. 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. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. See paragraph 1.
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