Food did not matter, daylight did not matter, nothing mattered, save this woman.Narrator
It was not success, after all, but conflagration his dream had made; and ever through his enduring toil the plaint of the weak, the old, and the unsuccessful beat upon his ears.Narrator
It pictured the strong life of the toiler of the wild, a life keyed to red blood and great heart-throbs; a life warm, and healthy, and clean, and cast in large mold.Narrator
He was animated now with the anticipation of inebriation and joy.Narrator
Sure, it was a hard graft, but it would get easier every day.Narrator
Toil meant nagging, and nagging spelled friction and wasted energy, for which food was required.Narrator
In spite of the reign of eternal peace, his place was in the midst of action and strife.Narrator
He could not forget, actively, in action, in the doing of work, yet he did not care to remember.Narrator
He had advertised for his wife and had failed to find her. He mourned her loss, was very lonesome without her, and always he kept a sharp look-out, thinking she might get past him in the crowd.Narrator
It is not the way of life, to be made soft with the soft things. It is the way of life, to be strong with the strong things.Narrator