‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. 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. . ’ He could just see the glare.
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