He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. I found a blue stone on the beach once.
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