‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. 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. Abruptly, Gerald turned.
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