Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. You have misunderstood. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders.
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