It is we who have become the parasites and toys. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. 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. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. "No," replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh.
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