\" \"All right. 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. "We've heard coming and going. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. It was from Brendon. . As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him.
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