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. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. “You will have to eat soon,” he said cryptically. ” “I had to,” she repeated. He let go of the girl’s arm. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. It shall be the bludgeon. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so.
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