1838's Woodland Point-Personal Narrative

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I cared not for the sun at that time. The summer of 1838 had arrived with little or no significance than that of any other. Why would it have done? Out there, the days rolled by as if intertwined. One great long day of blissful isolation was followed by the next, in perpetual harmony. Nothing rocked the boat. I say isolation, but per chance I’m exaggerating; perhaps not? It is not like we’re talking about being marooned on a desert island or anything like that. No, not quite. Yet, Woodland Point was indeed troublesome to find, and it had little in the way of a connection to the outside world. It remained a speck on the vast scope of humanity as it were, not even a footnote at the bottom of a page; but no, not quite a desert island. I suppose

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