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It so fell that one dark evening in the month of June I was belated in the Bernese Oberland. Dusk overtook me toiling along the great Chamounix Road, and in the heart of a most desolate gorge, whose towering snow-flung walls seemed-as the day sucked inwards to a point secret as a leech's mouth-to close about me like a monstrous amphitheatre of ghosts.