It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. 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. Sheppard, meekly. I can never be grateful enough. And listen, John. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. “Like him who stood on Darien I view uncharted sea Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights Before my Queen and me.
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