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Updated: June 10, 2025
"That's their window light, eh?" Lawanne commented. "I may go down and see him in the morning. I am not very keen on two or three weeks alone in these tremendous silences. This valley at night now it's awesome. And those Siwashes are like dumb men. You wouldn't go bear-hunting, I suppose?" There was a peculiar gratification to Hollister in being asked. But he had too much work on hand.
"You go down to Carr's and tell them to send a man with a gas-boat out to Powell River with word to the Provincial Police of what has happened. I'll keep watch until you come back." In an hour Lawanne returned with two men from the settlement.
I think and think sometimes until I feel like a rat in a trap. And you are the only one here I can really talk to. You've been through the mill and you won't misunderstand." "Ah," he said. "Is Charlie Mills devoid of understanding, or Lawanne?" She looked at him fixedly for a second. "You are very acute," she observed. "Some time I may tell you about Charlie Mills.
Mills sat on the floor, his back against the wall, his hands braced on his knees to keep his body erect. And upon him there was to be seen no visible mark of the murderer's bullet. But his dark-skinned face had turned waxy white. His lips were colorless. Every breath he drew was a laborious effort. A ghastly smile spread slowly over his face as he looked up at Hollister and Lawanne. "You fool.
Especially if he has prevailed on a woman to share his joys and sorrows. Some of these days Mr. Bland will wake up and find his wife has gone off with some enterprising chap who is less cocksure and more ambitious." "Would you blame her?" Doris asked casually. "Bless your soul, no," Lawanne laughed. "If I were a little more romantic, I might run away with her myself.
But mostly he cut and piled cedar as if he tried to drown out in the sweat of his body whatever fever burned within. Hollister observed that Mills no longer had much traffic with the Blands. For weeks at a time he did not leave the bolt camp except to come down to Hollister's house. Lawanne seemed to be a favored guest now, at Bland's.
"Neither did she seem so to Phillips, if you remember," Lawanne said. "That was his tragedy to know his folly and still be urged blindly on because of her, because of his own illusions, which he knew he must cling to or perish. But wait till I finish the book I'm going to write this winter. I'm going to cut loose.
"Women shy away from the grotesque, the unpleasant," Hollister declared. "You know they do. I had proof of that pretty well over two years. So do men, for that matter. But the women are the worst. I've seen them look at me as if I were a loathsome thing." "Oh, rats," Lawanne returned irritably. "You're hyper-sensitive about that face of yours. The women well, take Mrs. Bland as an example.
A man shouldn't be like that, he shouldn't think too much especially about other people. He ought to be like a bull go around snorting and pawing up the earth till he gets his belly full, and then lie down and chew his cud." Lawanne smiled. "You've hit on something, Mills," he said.
Lawanne asked. Hollister nodded. His eyes were on Bland. The man sat on the ground. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, a sandwich in the other. He was blackened almost beyond recognition, and he was viewing with patent disgust the state of his clothes and particularly of his hands. He set down his food and rubbed at his fingers with a soiled handkerchief. Then he resumed eating and drinking.
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