This is our last day," said Weston.
Grenfell, who did not answer, made his toilet by buttoning his jacket and stretching himself, after which he blinked at his companion with watery eyes.
"There are no marble basins or delicately perfumed soaps in the bush," he said.
Weston laughed.
"I don't remember having seen them at the muskeg camp.

In the meanwhile, breakfast's ready.

I'm sorry there isn't a little more of it." His companion glanced at the frying-pan.
"A scrap of rancid pork, and a very small flapjack--burnt at that! To think that human intelligence and man's force of will should be powerless without a sufficiency of such pitiable things.

It's humiliating." Then, with a grimace of disgust, he stretched out his hand for the blackened pannikin.
"Green tea is a beverage that never appealed to me, and I feel abject this morning.

Now, if I had a little Bourbon whisky I could laugh at despondency and weariness.