‘You’re either mad, or in love. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. 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. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray.
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