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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. ’ ‘The Frenchie? I only knows as how Miss says he will ruin everything. “He’s quite the inventor. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. ‘And so also have I. “I believe that you would find her in some respects curiously altered. ‘Talk to me another time.
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