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he bathed once a month in a deep hole in the creek known only to George and to him and, once, one other.
his habits and appearance required strangers to alter their conception of an aristocrat to one who can afford to be himself.
Wasn’t it on such a day he’d first laid eyes on Bronco Henry? … hot time in the old town tonight.
In Nature herself—in the supposedly random and innocent way she disposed and arranged herself—he saw the supernatural.
Nobody could guess where it would end, people staying up all night getting distant stations on the radio.
the portrait of the Old Lady stared down with her Boston look,
