More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Beyond the garage were some decorative trees trimmed as carefully as poodle dogs.
A few locks of dry white hair clung to his scalp, like wild flowers fighting for life on a bare rock.
Another hour went by. It got dark and the rain-clouded lights of the stores were soaked up by the black street. Street-car bells jangled crossly.
There was a gusty wind blowing in at the windows and the soot from the oil burners of the hotel next door was down-drafted into the room and rolling across the top of the desk like tumbleweed drifting across a vacant lot. I
I counted it up on my fingers. Rusty Regan had run away from a lot of money and a handsome wife to go wandering with a vague blonde who was more or less married to a racketeer named Eddie Mars.
a general air of nostalgic decay.
The night air came drifting in with a kind of stale sweetness that
still remembered automobile exhausts and the streets of the city.
It was raining again the next morning, a slanting gray rain like a swung curtain of crystal beads.
I pushed a flat tin of cigarettes at him. His small neat fingers speared one like a trout taking the fly.
