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But even apart from the wind he could still tell the approximate time by the staling
smell of gumbo now cold in the big earthen pot on the cold stove beyond the
flimsy kitchen wall — the big pot of it which his wife had made that morning in
The commissary was another iron single room filled with the iron cold and lighted
by the hushed iron glare of the snow beyond a single window. The cold in it was
a dead cold. It was like aspic, almost solid to move through, the body reluctant ...
Then one night — the slow tedious charring log was almost a paddle now — one
night and he was in bed, in his bed in the bunkhouse and it was cold, he was
trying to pull the covers up only his mule wouldn't let him, prodding and bumping
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LibraryThing ReviewRevisió d'Usuari - isisingonthecake - LibraryThing
My mother asked me what I thought of it, and mentioned that she thought it sounded kind of "steamy" from the GoodReads summary, so this started out as a comment on her comment and then turned into a ... Llegeix la ressenya completa
LibraryThing ReviewRevisió d'Usuari - pnorman4345 - LibraryThing
A couple meet, she is married with children , he is a poor naive medical student. They fall in love and run away. She is an artist. He wants to keep their love pure, above middle class conventions ... Llegeix la ressenya completa