He had come a little under the spell of those rugged
solitudes then. He could imagine it transformed by the magic of
summer. He could imagine himself living there with this beloved woman,
exacting a livelihood from those hushed forests and finding it good.
"I've been wondering about that myself," he said. "There is a lot of
good cedar there. That bolt chute your brothers built could be
repaired. If they expected to get that stuff out profitably, why
shouldn't I? I'll have to look into that."
They were living in a furnished flat. If they had married in what
people accustomed to a certain formality of living might call haste
they had no thought of repenting at leisure, or otherwise. They were,
in fact, quite happy and contented. Marriage had shattered no
illusions. If, indeed, they cherished any illusory conceptions of each
other, the intimacy of mating had merely served to confirm those
illusions, to shape them into realities. They were young enough to be
ardent lovers, old enough to know that love was not the culmination,
but only an ecstatic phase in the working out of an inexorable natural
law.
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