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She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. He opened the drawer of the writing table. "I love her already. He hated horizons. The musician. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. 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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