Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. For all that, it is folly. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. “It’s the spring,” he said. "I have baffled you.
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