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. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. "Don't ask me about it now. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. He unlocked himself from her embrace.
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