You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. 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. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. "This suspense is worse than torture. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom.
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