"If there is any honour in you, stop and think. Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. 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. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators.
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