Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. “Mr. Now, it won't do a bit of good to warn Spurlock.
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