"I'm armed; you are not. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. 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. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. Charvill’s fury was burning out. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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