In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. “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.
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