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. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. “It—it—must come,” she faltered.
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