MY YEAR IN SWEDEN

An hour later in the kitchen baking the bread. I would not mind the smell, I rather liked it.

My bed was already cold - stout timber, protection against the cold, the snow of winter. Clothes and furs neatly hung, my wife's winter furs, her silk bodice with silver thread, tippet of squirrel-skin, lace, red leather belt.

We climbed down, said it did not matter, sat down to a splendid supper, home-made bread and home-brewed ale.

]+>Cyborg