CHAPTER I
I COME HOME: AND THE WOLVES HOWL
I am sick of the bitter wood-smoke,And sick of the wind and rain:I will leave the bush behind me,And look for my love again.
Little as I guessed it, this story really began at Skunk's Misery. But Skunk's Misery was the last thing in my head, though I had just come from the place.
Hungry, dog-tired, cross with the crossness of a man in authority whose orders have been forgotten or disregarded, I drove...
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