How'd it feel?" Rube asked himself. "I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.

Warily, she dares to allow me a smile. "It's okay. It's just...I'm not too good at talking to people." She looks away again as her shyness smothers her. "So, do you think it'd be all right if we don't talk?

Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.

How do you tell if something's alive? You check for breathing.