"Boyd smoked in silence. The momentum that had carried him for days, for miles, settled upon him like an enormous weight, and he was seized with weariness. Now that he was here he saw that he had reached not some final destination but simply a waystation that had drawn him miles in the wrong direction."
"The old man stood at least a head taller than anyone in the crowd milling about him and his ferocious eyes and irritated demeanor he looked like a weary old bear beleaguered by a pack of hounds."
"He fitted shells into the cylinder of the gun watching through moted glass."
"He looked for something of the boy Brady had been twenty years ago in the pale freckled face but if any of the boy remained he could not find it."
"The engine labored and wheezed and even on level ground seemed to be ascending some almost insurmountable grade, on hills it came to a near standstill."
"Forty years ago he had set out a row of cedars that extended for over a quarter of a mile, that ran from the road he'd just left and crossed the wide field to the fencerow that had enclosed a garden. He thought for an amused moment that if he was ever remembered for anything it would likely be the cedar row."