She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. He could not tell whether she was English or American. 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. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed.
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