Presently he began to feel lonely. It was a strange sensation to Y.D.,
whose life had been loneliness from the first, so that he had never
known it. Of course, there was the hunger for companionship; he had
often known that. A drinking bout, a night at cards, a whirl into
excess, and that would pass away. But this loneliness was different. The
moan of the wind in the spruce trees communicated itself to him with an
eerie oppressiveness. He sat up and lit a lamp. The light fell on the
bare logs of his hut; he had never known before how bare they were. He
got up and shuffled about; took a lid off the stove and put it back on
again; moved aimlessly about the room, and at last sat down on the bed.