’ ‘Very well, see you then.’ And he walks off down the wooden walk gaily humming. ‘I think he’s sweet on you, Miss Mannerly.’ Choosing to ...gnore that comment, Marion says, ‘Good morning Mistress Babbitt. I am in need of two yards of wide ribbon, preferably white.’ ‘You don’t think Mister Adams is sweet on you?’ ‘I do not know him well enough to give you a good opinion on that matter.’ ‘Well, I know him and I think he is sweet on you.’ Try as hard as she can, she cannot muster a blush and if. Like Thoreau at Walden Pond, Hemingway battling it out with the marlin in the Gulf of Mexico, Amundsen eating his own huskeys to stay alive at the South Pole… Yuck, maybe not that last one. But you get the idea. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m no woman-hater. Far from it. While I was living in the city, women were my obssession. And it wasn’t just sex. I felt I needed the warmth of female companionship. Male bonding was all well and good, but without a woman nearby I felt a cold, black emptiness. More

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