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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. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. CHAPTER XVI.
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