He dared not go on. The stranger turned his head at the sound. He had been baptized there. Mother and Son. 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. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query.
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