They made their beds on the sand, and as the blaze dropped from the fire the sphere of light grew smaller;
the curling branches disappeared and only a faint glimmer showed where the tree trunks were.
From the darkness Lennie called, “George—you asleep?” “No. What do you want?” “Let’s have different color rabbits, George.”
“Sure we will,” George said sleepily. “Red and blue and green rabbits, Lennie. Millions of ’em.”
“Furry ones, George, like I seen in the fair in Sacramento.”
“Sure, furry ones.” “’Cause I can just as well go away, George, and live in a cave.”
“You can just as well go to hell,” said George. “Shut up now.”
The red light dimmed on the coals. Up the hill from the river a coyote hammered,
and a dog answered from the other side of the stream. The sycamore leaves whispered in a little night breeze.
CHAPTER 2
The bunk house was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted.
In three walls there were small, square windows, and in the fourth, a solid door with a wooden latch.
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