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. The Goopes were the oddest little couple conceivable, following a fruitarian career upon an upper floor in Theobald’s Road. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Her education was remarkable in that it was overdeveloped here and underdeveloped there: the woman of thirty and the child of ten were always getting in each other's way. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. She was still good at following orders. Her desires were not for riches.
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