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It was a very big gun he holds, and the only one who hasn't clicked with the why of it, was Dumbo. She thinks I'm simply being the bitchy little sister when I call her a bastard.Dad arrived home dead on six thirty, as usual. Dinner was lamb chops mash potatoes, cauliflower and carrots and peas, which Beverly shelled while Mum placed tacks where Bev prayed to have breasts one day. Large nipples were not the same thing. While they ate, Beverly told her Dad about the Scottish dancing and the dress mum had fixed up. Listen, Dumbo, don't tune out, I'm telling you something.He was pleased, as his little girl does have very little social life and dancing with all her female classmates was an activity with which he wholeheartedly approved. He thought a zack was a bargain for entrance though he didn't approve of the money going to a useless church. He'd lost all religious convictions after the first six months in Changi and became militantly so on the Burma Railway.Half way through the family. Lake Bennett was froze up solid by the time I had arrived. I parded up with a grizzled old miner who had been on the trail for gold for most of his life. ‘Stick with me, chum,’ he said. ‘An’ I’ll show ya the ropes.’ And thus started my association with Swede Knudsen. We spent our days cutting logs and hauling to our stash on the shore of that lake. By nights we would sit by the fire and talk like men do when alone and so far from home. Some man had hauled up a piano on the back of a horse. It sat cockeyed on the shore, and he would stretch out his talon-like fingers and begin to play. Tess would get half-liquored up and begin to sing. I would lay on my bedroll, and look at the stars, and drift away in the words of her songs. Our raft was as sturdy a craft as there was on the shores of that frozen lake. We had found a clear spot on the bank and had our camp set up there. It seemed that near every tree had been cut down to build rafts and to fuel the fires at night. As far as the eye.
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