She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. 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. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss.
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