He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. “One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, snowy mountains. “How’s Mrs. ” He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time.
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