When Love Calls - Stanley John Weyman - Bog

"Clare," I said, "I wish that we had brought some better clothes, if it were only one frock. You look the oddest figure." And she did. She was lying head to head with me on the thick moss that clothed one part of the river-bank above Breistolen near the Sogn Fiord. We were staying at Breistolen, but there was no moss thereabouts, nor in all the Sogn district, I often thought, so deep and soft, and so dazzling orange and white and crimson as that particular patch.