There was, or HAD been, a woman
with Bram--and as he thought of the length and beauty and rare
texture of the silken strand in his pocket he could not repress a
shudder at the possibilities the situation involved. Bram--and a
woman! And a woman with hair like that!
He left his tree after a time. For another hour he paced slowly
back and forth at the edge of the Barren, his senses still keyed
to the highest point of caution. Then he rebuilt his fire, pausing
every few moments in the operation to listen for a suspicious
sound. It was very cold. He noticed, after a little, that the
weird sound of the lights over the Pole had become only a ghostly
whisper. The stars were growing dimmer, and he watched them as
they seemed slowly to recede farther and farther away from the
world of which he was a part. This dying out of the stars always
interested him. It was one of the miracles of the northern world
that lay just under the long Arctic night which, a few hundred
miles beyond the Barren, was now at its meridian.
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