‘Ah, trying to be the young hero, I take it, which is why he near got hisself killed. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. 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. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle.
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