Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ‘No, no, I am convinced your very first theory was right. 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. I can remove the prisoner at any hour of the night I think fit: and I will remove him. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket.
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