” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. 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. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. The devil is on top, not below.
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