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Updated: May 15, 2025
Tobey ain't done nothing. What you tryin' to do to him?" "There is blood on this box, Mrs. Brenner." "Mebbe he cut himself." Mrs. Brenner was fighting. Her face was chalky white. "In the box, Mrs. Brenner, is a gold watch and chain. The man who was killed, Mrs. Brenner, had a piece of gold chain to match this in his buttonhole. The rest of it had been torn off." Olga made no sound.
I told you I was going to Paris, and that I had a clear month there. Well, now, throw your things together and come with me. You haven't had a decent holiday since you've been here. You need freshening up. Or if not Paris Paris isn't a necessity we'll go down by Munich and the Brenner to Italy, and I'll be cicerone.
They're as wet as a dish-rag." "They're full of water, too," Tobey grumbled as he sprawled on the floor, sticking one big, awkward foot into her lap. "The water in there makes me cold." "You spoil all your pa's shoes that a-way," said Mrs. Brenner, her head bent over her task. "He told you not to go round in the wet with 'em any more. He'll give you a lashing if he comes in and sees your shoes.
"Ten minutes or so," she said. "Just so," agreed Munn. "Brenner, when did you come in?" A trace of Mart's sullenness rose in his face. "I told you that once," he said. "I mean how long after Tobey?" "I dunno," said Mart. "How long, Mrs. Brenner?" She hesitated again. She scented a trap. "Oh, 'bout ten to fifteen minutes, I guess," she said. Suddenly she burst out passionately.
We traveled on, therefore, by the quickest and easiest route, and alighting from the express-train to Munich at the Brixen station on the Brenner Pass, were shortly deposited, bag and baggage, at that comfortable and thoroughly German inn, the renowned Elephant.
Lying just south of Austria it is the key to Italy, opening through its defiles a passage to the sunny plains of the Peninsula; and through those fastnesses, guarded by frowning castles, no foe could force his way, into the valleys of the Tyrol. The most sublime road in Europe is that over Mount Brenner, along the banks of the Adige.
We could distinguish enough to know that, with the old Roman ruins, the churches and convent towers perched on the crags, and all, the scenery in summer must be finer than that of the Rhine, especially as the vineyards here are picturesque, the vines being trained so as to hide and clothe the ground with verdure. It was four o'clock when we reached Trent, and colder than on top of the Brenner.
She freed her hand and laid it on his shoulder. "Look at him," she moaned. "He couldn't 'a' done it. He's he's just a boy!" Sheriff Munn rose. His men rose with him. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Brenner," he said. "Terrible sorry. But you can see how it is. Things look pretty black for him." He paused, looked around, hesitated for a moment. Finally he said, "Well, I guess we'd better be getting along." Mrs.
"That was on the hill," said Mrs. Brenner slowly, steadying her voice. She put her calloused hand against her lips and stood listening with agonized intentness. But now the heavy, foggy silence had fallen again. At intervals came the long, faint wail of the fog-horn. There was no other sound. Even the old woman in the shadowy corner had ceased her mouthing. Mrs.
In January, 1869, I had a little experience of hunting after genial skies; and I will give you the benefit of it in some free running notes on my journey from Munich to Naples. It was the middle of January, at eleven o'clock at night, that we left Munich, on a mixed railway train, choosing that time, and the slowest of slow trains, that we might make the famous Brenner Pass by daylight.
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