It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. “I am. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. His eyes were set too close together. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do.
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