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. " "Zounds!" cried Marvel, "I—" "Hush!" whispered the tapstress, "or I retract my promise. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. .
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