Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. 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. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. ” The talk became more and more inconclusive and exhausting.
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