“I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. The man’s as obstinate as a mule. “One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, snowy mountains. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. “Ohmigod, Katy, you fucking killed her!” A trio of girls sniggered. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. Oh, you cannot escape from it. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you.
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