For more than three hours the mountains had loomed ahead yet they did not seem particularly closer to Louise. They grew somewhat larger through the wind shield of her truck as it crested

Mr. Russell, the not-old man who was old, arrived at arbitrary intervals in the mornings, fragmenting her energies as a stubborn thumb crushes a walnut. His cheeks were packed with silver bristles bulging like the sides of a fish. He tongued a cigar.