Part 7 As they came back from that day’s climb—it was up the Mittaghorn—they had to cross a shining space of wet, steep rocks between two grass slopes that needed a little care. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. She infused menace into her voice. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. “Forgive me,” he said. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark.
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