” For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland turf. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. Besides, it was under false pretences. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. 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. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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