She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. “Really,” she said. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. I knew it.
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