When she came, I could see at a glance she was tired and jaded and worried, and so, instead of letting her fret about in the hotel and get into a wearing tangle of gossip, I packed her and two knapsacks up, and started off on a long, refreshing, easy-going walk northward, until a blister on her foot stranded us at the Magenruhe Hotel on the Sneejoch.
1927 September, H[erbert] G[eorge] Wells, “Little Mother up the Möderberg”, in The Short Stories of H. G. Wells, London: Ernest Benn Limited […], page 641