"Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Pull yourself together now. 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. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death.
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