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. On the present occasion, in anticipation of Mr. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket. As for the patient, his decision was immediate. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so.
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