She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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