Part 7 As they came back from that day’s climb—it was up the Mittaghorn—they had to cross a shining space of wet, steep rocks between two grass slopes that needed a little care. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. . The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop.
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