I hope she falls off the face of the planet. 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. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly.
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