One who—who—tres. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. Nevertheless, Ann Veronica found it a difficult matter not to think of these things.
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