There were a few men on the ranges, but they were no more to me than the sheep—not so much.
Rhoda.
Weren't you dreadfully lonely?
Michaelis.
No.
Rhoda.
You hadn't even any books to read?
Michaelis.
Takes a took from his coat pocket.
I had this pocket Bible, that had been my father's. I read that sometimes. But always in a dream, without understanding, without remembering.