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. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. F. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. But the factor of overriding interest is that they have all met and approved the said imposters.
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