Spurling. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. Winny, my love, come with me. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other.
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