They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. “That is very nice of you,” she said. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. 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.
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