But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. Paris, 18. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. She waited expectantly. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter.
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