. “I do not know any one of that name. He turned the water off and handed her a towel. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. , like to forget all about it—even their names. 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.
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