. . 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. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come.
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