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. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. They are the only happy women in the Orient.
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