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“It ain’t dying I’m talking about, it’s living,” Augustus said. “I doubt it matters where you die, but it matters where you live.”
“Broke her heart,” Gus said, many times. “What are you talking about?” Call said. “She was a whore.” “Whores got hearts,” Augustus said.
Better by far never to have known the pleasure than to have the pain that followed. Maggie had been a weak woman, and yet her weakness had all but slaughtered his strength.
Roscoe felt bothered by the fact that there were no more trees. All his life he had lived amid trees and had given little thought to what a comfort they were. Trees had been so common that it was a shock to ride out on the plains and discover that there was a part of earth where there weren’t any. Occasionally they might see a few along the rivers, but not many, and those were more bushes than trees.
Newt didn’t know what was happening when the first hailstones hit. When he saw the tiny white pellets bouncing on the grass he assumed he was at last seeing snow. “Look, it’s snowing,” he said excitedly to Needle Nelson, who was near him.
“It might be that a buffalo is a kind of ox, only browner,” Augustus said. “Ox are mentioned in the Bible.” “What got you on the Bible?” Call asked. “Boredom,” Augustus said. “Religious controversy is better than none.” “If there’s mad Indians around, you may get more controversy than you bargained for,” Call said.
It seemed to her, after a month of it, that she was carrying Bob away with those sheets; he had already lost much weight and every morning seemed a little thinner to her. The large body that had lain beside her so many nights, that had warmed her in the icy nights, that had covered her those many times through the years and given her five children, was dribbling away as offal,