You must let me do whatever I can for you. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. 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. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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