Lucy entered and Mike followed. 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. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table.
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