She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. 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. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. It'll be your turn to save mine next. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him.
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