Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. I had to stay in school no matter how sick I was. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. 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. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below.
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