They are their mother’s sons. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. " "Excepting your father. 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. ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. "No," replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh.
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