Life in the bush was generally a bummer, an adverse experience, which was only rarely broken by the bennies, benefits like warm beer and letters from the World, the United States.
We hadn't gone a mile before it started to rain, light tentative drops at first, like unsure messengers. Then the lightning started and rent open the clouds. It came down like a cow pissing on a flat rock. We had no slickers and were soon soaked.
Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn’t quite forgive yet.
I can usually recover from a garden variety cold with rest and fluids.
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