" There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. 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. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer.
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