“I’m tired of you,” he said, “Be gone.”
I stared at him, not believing what he’d demanded.
“Be gone!” he shouted.
Without a word, I turned away from his reflection.

“I’m tired of you,” he said, “Be gone.”
I stared at him, not believing what he’d demanded.
“Be gone!” he shouted.
Without a word, I turned away from his reflection.
Leaving Nome’s safety
Through the pass — to the gold fields beyond
Old Man Winter waits
Jack London — Robert Service
Could a pen be mightier than the sluice?