She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the devastation.
“Then I’d better hang up and start reading.”
‘Kerosene!’
Ice and snow and rain again and at last sunlight breaking through the clouds, and green again, green of grass and trees, blue of sky by day, sparkle of stars by night.
They listened with interest to Stringer’s story.
And I’m not giving it up.
Lettie shouted, “Get down!” and she crouched on the moss, pulling me down with her.
The author of the book, one Agnes Nutter, was not surprised by this, but then, it would have taken an awful lot to surprise Agnes Nutter.
In the same early morning, I discovered a singular affinity between seeds and corduroys.
“Una salva de aplausos y silibos envidiosos celebró la hazaña.”
A round of applause and envious syllables celebrated the feat.
“I took it away from a drunk who said he’d bought it in a speakeasy for twelve bucks.”
After this act she has made herself holy in the sight of the goddess, and goes away to her home.
“Their heroes — and they — suffocating in the silent thickness of the book.”
For some time, we both read in silence; I was straining my ears for footsteps, tapping, or the other strange noises that I sometimes heard when I was in the stacks by myself, but heard nothing.