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Now a promise made is a debt unpaid and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it harkened with a grin
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw a trice it was called the "Alice May" And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here" said I, with a sudden cry...
is my cre-ma-tor-eum
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