They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. There was nothing to be learned from her face. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. 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.
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