This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. 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. Hill closed his eyes. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging.
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