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. "However, I'll refresh your memory. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. . "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. His tone was rough, almost threatening.
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