Explore "The Master of the Mill" by Frederick Philip Grove on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Give me a spirit that on this life's rough sea Lives t'have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack, And his rapt ship run on her side so low That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air. - CHAPMAN
The two women looked at each other with a smile of comprehension as the old, old man who, considering his years, was still so amazingly active, rose restlessly from his arm-chair to go to the northernmost window of the enormous hall in which they were sitting and to look, over the west end of the dark lake, at the mill. He did this night after night now; but there had been years when he had carefully avoided that view.