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Updated: May 7, 2025
Utterson beheld a marvelous number of degrees and hues of twilight; for here it would be dark like the back-end of evening; and there would be a glow of a rich, lurid brown, like the light of some strange conflagration; and here, for a moment, the fog would be quite broken up, and a haggard shaft of daylight would glance in between the swirling wreaths.
It stood between two lochs that were separated from each other by but a hundred yards of heather and rush, its back-end to one of the lochs, the door to Ben Bhreac. Gilian went first and trod down the nettles, making a path that she might the more comfortably reach this sanctuary so melancholy.
But they'd take a white man's head and sell it to tribes farther north that do prize sech trophies. Oh, this ain't no country for tenderfoots, son. There ain't no tract in the back-end of India, or the middle of Africa, that's as barbarous as a good wide streak of South America yet."
Haystoun at the Embassy in Paris within a week for the discussion of a particular question. The next evening Wratislaw drove in a hired dogcart up Glenavelin from Gledsmuir just as a stormy autumn twilight was setting in over the bare fields. A wild back-end had followed on the tracks of a marvellous summer.
But they tell me he's a quieter lad since the war, as sair lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane." "Will he be at the Mains just now?" Dickson asked. "I wadna wonder. He has a muckle place in England, but he aye used to come here in the back-end for the shootin' and in April for birds. He's clean daft about birds.
John Blackstocks at the Wast Lodge dee'd o' pneumony last back-end, and auld Simon Tappie at the Gairdens flitted to Maybole a year come Mairtinmas. There's naebody at the Gairdens noo, but there's a man come to the Wast Lodge, a blackavised body wi' a face like bend-leather.
This travelling show visited us regularly twice a year: once in summer for the Muckle Friday, when the performers were gay and stout, and even the horses had flesh on their bones; and again in the "back-end" of the year, when cold and hunger had taken the blood from their faces, and the scraggy dogs that whined at their side were lashed for licking the paint off the caravans.
By and by, however, he is at his work among the turnip-shoots, say guffawing and clapping his corduroys, with pauses for uneasy meditation, and there he ripens with the swedes, so that by the back-end of the year he has discovered, and exults to know, that the reward of manhood is neither more nor less than this sensation at the ribs.
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