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 oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. ” “Climbing?” “Yes.
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