The bull

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The bull broke into the high granary. Our only, and small, supply of horse and chicken feed was there. Foolishly, I went in after him and drove him out down the step. Cows began to die, one here, one there. Every morning some were unable to rise. By day, one walking would fall suddenly, as if it had no more life than a paper animal, blown over by a gust of wind.
The bull actually charged her in the granary and came close to crushing her against the back wall. She confused it, sweeping its eyes with a broom. It would probably have killed her, though, had zakelijke energie vergelijken it not stepped on a weak plank, which snapped. The animal panicked and turned for the door. (In decades to follow, John Love never fixed the plank.)
Snow hissed around the buildings, wind blew some snow into every room of the closed house, down the chimney, between window sashes, even in a straight shaft through a keyhole. The wood pile was buried in snow. The small heap of coal was frozen into an almost sohd chunk of coal and ice. In the numbing cold, it took me five hours a day to bring in fuel, to carry water and feed to the chickens, to put out hay and cottonseed cake for the cattle and horses.
John began to complain, a favorable sign. Why was I outside so much? Why didn’t I stay with him? To try to make up to him for being gone so long, I sat on the bed at night, wrapped in a blanket, reading to him by lamphght.
Somewhere among her possessions was a letter written to her zakelijke energie by a Wellesley friend asking, ‘What do you do with your spare time?” Where the stage route from Casper to Fort Washakie had crossed a tributary of Muskrat Creek, the banks were so high and the drop to the creekbed so precipitous that the site was littered with split wagon reaches and broken wheels.

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