“But that’s not all. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. He had looked at it before without comprehension. 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.
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