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. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them.
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