“You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. “Soon enough, John. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. 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.
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