‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. “What do you mean?” she asked. 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. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances.
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