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. ‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. ’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent.
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