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 as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully.
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