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No one remembers her beginnings.
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Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
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It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was
doing in New York.
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I first heard of Ántonia on what seemed to me an interminable journey across the great midland plains of North America.
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A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept repeating over and over: "Allez vous-en!
Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!"
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124 was spiteful.
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Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.
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You better not never tell nobody but God.
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Beth was looking in the mirror of her mother's vanity.
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When I was three and Bailey was four, we had arrived in the musty little town,
wearing tags on our wrists which instructed - "To Whom It May Concern" -
that we were Marguerite and Bailey Johnson Jr., from Long Beach, California,
en route to Stamps, Arkansas, c/o Mrs. Annie Henderson.
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He - for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something
to disguise it - was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the
rafters.
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Francis Marion Tarwater's uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy
got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had
come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast
table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with
the sign of its Savior at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep
the dogs from digging it up.
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Diddy the Good was taking a business trip.
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A nurse held the door open for them. Judge McKelva going first, then his daughter
Laurel, then his wife Fay, they walked into the windowless room where the doctor
would make his examination.
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