Sublime

Summer had passed. The winter of boredom had set in and frost had formed in the crevices of Blackshear’s mind.

The great days in Medora lasted all of three years, from 1883 to 1886. Nothing much had ever happened there before and nothing much has happened since, as the world judges these things. Though some ranchers survived the Marquis’s collapse and the winter of 1886-1887, Medora did not, and were it not for the château, the park and Harold Schafer’s com

I thought often and seriously of picking huckleberries; that surely I could do, and its small profits might suffice—for my greatest skill has been to want but little—so little capital it required, so little distraction from my wonted moods, I foolishly thought. While my acquaintances went unhesitatingly into trade or the professions, I contemplated