‘Look, Clara!’ I said, ‘will that do?’
‘What is it?’ she asked, turning her head in the direction in which I pointed.
On our right, through the veil, half of rain, half of gauzy mist, which filled the air, arose a precipice indeed—the whole bulk it was of the Eiger mountain, which the mist brought so near that it seemed literally to overhang the road. Clara looked up for a moment, but betrayed no sign of awe.
‘Yes, I think that will do,’ she said.
‘Though you are only at the foot of it?’ I suggested.
‘Yes, though I am only at the foot of it,’ she repeated.
‘What does it remind you of?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. I never saw anything it could remind me of,’ she answered.
‘Nor read anything?’
‘Not that I remember.’