“The elect have no need for artificial stimulants, or for a road to oblivion. They are at all times happy and serene. After being harangued by Mrs Ross, Donald speculates on just what he would give for a glass of the disgusting rum drunk in such quantities at Fort Edgar. Winter is drinking season; it smoothes the flow of endless nights when warmth is a distant memory. It makes endurable the terrible jokes your companions tell and retell. It makes the companions themselves endurable. Donald has h...alf a flask of whisky that he swore to himself he would save for the journey back, but he is sorely tempted. He has a feeling that he will not be going back any time soon. The snow has turned to rain. The temperature rises and the snowflakes are heavy with water, no longer floating, but falling to the ground. The nature of the lying snow changes too: from being light and feathery like a quilt, it has become sodden and unstable. Loaded with moisture, the snow has no strength; large masses break away and slide off the roof opposite Donald’s window, landing with a soft, heavy thump.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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