“Those were good. 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. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather.
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