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. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. ” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks.
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