The room seemed a vacuum. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. 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. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. It is putting all my dreams out of joint.
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