He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. “Come with me. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. She continued to fan herself.
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