\" Diane chirped once again, ever-musical. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. I never saw a man who wasn't. “One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, snowy mountains. He had drawn a horrid picture of the fate that awaited mademoiselle when once the populace discovered her relationship to the Valade family. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. But here she met with a check. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald.
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