“That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. It was fastened inside. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. 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. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do.
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