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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"


Of course, you can't do that alone. I know because I've tried it. We
humans don't differ so greatly from the other animals. We're made to
hunt in couples or packs. There's a purpose, a law, you might say,
behind that, too; only it's terribly obscured by a lot of other
nonessentials in this day and age.
"Is there any comparison between this sort of life, for instance--if it
appeals to one at all--and being a stenographer and bucking up against
the things any good-looking, unprotected girl gets up against in a
city? You know, if you'd be frank, that there isn't. Shucks! Herding
in the mass, and struggling for a mere subsistence, like dogs over a
bone, degenerates man physically, mentally, and morally--all our
vaunted civilization and culture to the contrary notwithstanding. Eh?"
But she would not take up the cudgels against him, would not seem to
countenance or condone his offense by discussing it from any angle
whatsoever. And she was the more determined to allow no degree of
friendliness, even in conversation, because she recognized the
masterful quality of the man. She told herself that she could have
liked Roaring Bill Wagstaff very well if he had not violated what she
considered the rules of the game.


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