“But I am at singing-pitch. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. “Why, I do not know. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. 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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