The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Spit of your mother. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. 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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