At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. ” “I can spare it,” Anna answered suavely. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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