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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"

But the more I see of it the better it compares with
the outer world, where the extremes of luxury and want are always in
evidence. It began to seem like home to me when I first looked down
into this little basin. I had a partner then. I said to him: 'Here's
a dandy, fine place to winter.' So we wintered--in a log shack sixteen
foot square that Silk and Satin and Nigger have for a stable now. When
summer came my partner wanted to move on, so I stayed. Stayed and
began to build for the next winter. And I've been working at it ever
since, making little things like chairs and tables and shelves, and
fixing up game heads whenever I got an extra good one. And maybe two
or three times a year I'd go out. Get restless, you know. I'm not
really a hermit by nature. Lord, the things I've packed in here from
the outside! Books--I hired a whole pack train at Ashcroft once to
bring in just books; they thought I was crazy, I guess. I've quit this
place once or twice, but I always come back. It's got that home feel
that I can't find anywhere else. Only it has always lacked one
important home qualification," he finished softly. "Do you ever build
air castles?"
"No," Hazel answered untruthfully, uneasy at the trend of his talk.


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