’ Gerald unfolded his arms and threw his hands in the air. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. It is not for myself I fear.
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