So here was my story, all neatly packaged and tied up with a bow (Π²ΠΎΡ ΠΌΠΎΡ ΠΈΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΡ, Π²ΡΡ Π°ΠΊΠΊΡΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΏΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π° ΠΈ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Π° Π±Π°Π½ΡΠΈΠΊΠΎΠΌ; bow β Π΄ΡΠ³Π°; Π΄ΡΠΆΠΊΠ°/ΠΈΠ»ΠΈΠ»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠΉΠΈΠ·ΠΎΠ³Π½ΡΡΡΠΉΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡ/; Π±Π°Π½ΡΠΈΠΊ): I had stopped for a rest at the top of this hill (Ρ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΠ»ΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ΄ΠΎΡ Π½ΡΡΡ Π½Π° Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΈΠ½Π΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Ρ ΠΎΠ»ΠΌΠ°), had gone inside the cemetery to have a little look around (Π·Π°ΡΠ΅Π» Π½Π° ΠΊΠ»Π°Π΄Π±ΠΈΡΠ΅, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ Π½Π΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΎΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΡΡ/ΠΏΡΠΎΠ³ΡΠ»ΡΡΡΡΡ), and while backing away from the grave of one George Staub had tripped over my own large and stupid feet (ΠΈ, ΠΏΡΡΡΡΡ Π½Π°Π·Π°Π΄ ΠΎΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠ»Ρ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ-ΡΠΎ ΠΠΆΠΎΡΠ΄ΠΆΠ° Π‘ΡΠ°ΡΠ±Π°, ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠ½ΡΠ»ΡΡ ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ Π½Π΅ΡΠΊΠ»ΡΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈ; stupid β Π³Π»ΡΠΏΡΠΉ, ΡΡΠΏΠΎΠΉ; Π΄ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ). Fell down, banged my head on a marker (ΡΠΏΠ°Π», ΡΠ΄Π°ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡ Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΎ Π½Π°Π΄Π³ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΈΠ΅). How long had I been unconscious (ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π΄ΠΎΠ»Π³ΠΎ Ρ Π±ΡΠ» Π±Π΅Π· ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ; conscious β ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ; ΠΎΡΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ)? I wasn't savvy enough to tell time by the changing position of the moon with to the minute accuracy (Ρ Π½Π΅ Π±ΡΠ» Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅Π½, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΏΠΎ ΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π»ΡΠ½Ρ Ρ ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ Π΄ΠΎ ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ; savvy β ΡΠΌΠ΅ΠΊΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡΡΠΉ, ΡΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ; Π·Π½Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ, ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ½ΡΠΉ), but it had to have been at least an hour (Π½ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠ»ΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½Π΅ ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΠ°).
succeed [sqk'sJd], unconscious [An'kOnSqs], accuracy ['xkjurqsI]
On my second try I succeeded in getting up, and stood there swaying among the tombstones, knee-deep in mist. I turned around, saw the break in the rock wall and Ridge Road beyond it. I couldn't see my pack because the mist had overlaid it, but I knew it was there. If I walked out to the road in the left hand wheelrut of the lane, I'd find it. Hell, would likely stumble over it.
So here was my story, all neatly packaged and tied up with a bow: I had stopped for a rest at the top of this hill, had gone inside the cemetery to have a little look around, and while backing away from the grave of one George Staub had tripped over my own large and stupid feet. Fell down, banged my head on a marker. How long had I been unconscious? I wasn't savvy enough to tell time by the changing position of the moon with to the minute accuracy, but it had to have been at least an hour.
Long enough to have a dream that I'd gotten a ride with a dead man (Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠ»Π³ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΌΠ½Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ½ΠΈΠ»ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ½, ΡΡΠΎ Ρ Π΅Ρ Π°Π» Ρ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΎΠΌ). What dead man (ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΎΠΌ)? George Staub, of course, the name I'd read on a grave-marker just before the lights went out (ΠΊΠΎΠ½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΈΠΌΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ΅ Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΈΡΠ°Π» Π½Π° ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ Π½Π°Π΄Π³ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΈΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠ°Π· ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄ ΡΠ΅ΠΌ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ: Β«ΡΠ²Π΅Ρ Π²ΡΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡΒ»). It was the classic ending, wasn't it (ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ ΠΊΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΈΠ½Π°Π»ΠΎΠΌ, Π½Π΅ ΡΠ°ΠΊ Π»ΠΈ)? Gosh-What-an-Awful-Dream-I-Had (ΡΠ΅ΡΡ-ΡΡΠΎ-Π·Π°-ΡΡΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ-ΡΠΎΠ½-ΠΌΠ½Π΅-ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ½ΠΈΠ»ΡΡ). And when I got to Lewiston and found my mother had died (Π° Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ Ρ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΅Π΄Ρ Π² ΠΡΡΠΈΡΡΠΎΠ½ ΠΈ ΡΠ·Π½Π°Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΡ ΠΌΠ°ΠΌΠ° ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π°)? Just a little touch of precognition in the night, put it down to that (Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΌΠ°Π»Π΅Π½ΡΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π² Π½ΠΎΡΠΈ, /ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ/ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠΈ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΊ ΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ; to put down β ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠΊΠ°ΡΡ, ΠΊΠ»Π°ΡΡΡ; Π·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅Ρ; ΠΎΡΠ½Π΅ΡΡΠΈ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅Ρ /ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ/, ΠΏΡΠΈΠΏΠΈΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ /ΡΡΠΎ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ/). It was the sort of story you might tell years later (ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ΄Π° ΠΈΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π³ΠΎΠ΄Ρ ΡΠΏΡΡΡΡ), near the end of a party (Π±Π»ΠΈΠΆΠ΅ ΠΊ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΡ Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ½ΠΊΠΈ), and people would nod their heads thoughtfully and look solemn (ΠΈ Π»ΡΠ΄ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΡ Π·Π°Π΄ΡΠΌΡΠΈΠ²ΠΎ ΠΊΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅Π·Π½ΡΠΉ Π²ΠΈΠ΄: Β«Π²ΡΠ³Π»ΡΠ΄Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅Π·Π½ΠΎΒ»; solemn β ΡΠΎΡΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ; Π²Π°ΠΆΠ½ΡΠΉ, ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅Π·Π½ΡΠΉ) and some dinkleberry with leather patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket would say (Π° ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΉ-Π½ΠΈΠ±ΡΠ΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΄ΡΡΠΎΠΊ Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠΆΠ°Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠ»Π°ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ Π½Π° Π»ΠΎΠΊΡΡΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΏΠΈΠ΄ΠΆΠ°ΠΊΠ° ΡΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Ρ; dinkleberry /ΡΠ°ΡΠ΅ dingleberry/ β Π½Π΅Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΎΠΊ ΡΠ΅ΠΊΠ°Π»ΠΈΠΉ, ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠΎΡ ΡΠΈΠΉ ΠΊ Π²ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΡΠ°ΠΌ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡΠΈ; Π΄ΡΡΠ°ΠΊ, ΡΡΠΏΠΈΡΠ°; dinkle β Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌ., ΠΎΡ to dangle /Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ/; berry β ΡΠ³ΠΎΠ΄Π°) there were more things in heaven and earth than were dreamed of in our philosophy and then (/ΡΡΠΎ/ Π½Π° Π½Π΅Π±Π΅ΡΠ°Ρ ΠΈ Π½Π° Π·Π΅ΠΌΠ»Π΅ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈ Π½Π΅ ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°ΠΌ: Β«Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉ, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ /ΡΠ΅/ ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ Π³ΡΠ΅Π·ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π² Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈΒ», Π° ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΌ; to dream of smth. β Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ½ ΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ; Π³ΡΠ΅Π·ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ) β
βThen shit,β I croaked (ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΌ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΠΌΠΎ, β ΠΊΡΠΈΠΊΠ½ΡΠ» Ρ Ρ ΡΠΈΠΏΠ»ΠΎ; to croak β ΠΊΠ°ΡΠΊΠ°ΡΡ; ΠΊΠ²Π°ΠΊΠ°ΡΡ; Ρ ΡΠΈΠΏΠ΅ΡΡ). The top of the mist was moving slowly (ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡ Ρ ΡΡΠΌΠ°Π½: Β«Π²Π΅ΡΡ /Π²Π΅ΡΡ Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΠΌΠ°Π½Π°Β» ΠΌΠ΅Π΄Π»Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ Π΄Π²ΠΈΠ³Π°Π»ΡΡ), like mist on a clouded mirror (ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΊΠ°ΠΏΠ΅Π»ΡΠΊΠΈ Π²Π»Π°Π³ΠΈ/ΠΈΡΠΏΠ°ΡΠΈΠ½Π° Π½Π° Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌ Π·Π΅ΡΠΊΠ°Π»Π΅; cloud β ΠΎΠ±Π»Π°ΠΊΠΎ). βI'm never talking about this (Ρ Π½ΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π½Π΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠ°ΠΆΡ ΠΎΠ± ΡΡΠΎΠΌ). Never, not in my whole life, not even on my deathbed (Π½ΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π·Π° Π²ΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Ρ, Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π° ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅).β
precognition ["prJkPg'nIS(q)n], solemn ['sOlqm], leather ['leDq]
Long enough to have a dream that I'd gotten a ride with a dead man. What dead man? George Staub, of course, the name I'd read on a grave-marker just before the lights went out. It was the classic ending, wasn't it? Gosh-What-an-Awful-Dream-I-Had. And when I got to Lewiston and found my mother had died? Just a little touch of precognition in the night, put it down to that. It was the sort of story you might tell years later, near the end of a party, and people would nod their heads thoughtfully and look solemn and some dinkleberry with leather patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket would say there were more things in heaven and earth than were dreamed of in our philosophy and then β
βThen shit,β I croaked. The top of the mist was moving slowly, like mist on a clouded mirror. βI'm never talking about this. Never, not in my whole life, not even on my deathbed.β
But it had all happened just the way I remembered it (Π½ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Ρ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΠ»), of that I was sure (Π² ΡΡΠΎΠΌ Ρ Π±ΡΠ» ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅Π½). George Staub had come along and picked me up in his Mustang (ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΅Π·ΠΆΠ°Π» ΠΌΠΈΠΌΠΎ Π½Π° ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΌ βΠΌΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π³Π΅β ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π» ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ), Ichabod Crane's old pal with his head stitched on instead of under his arm (ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π»Ρ ΠΠΊΠ°Π±ΠΎΠ΄Π° ΠΡΠ΅ΠΉΠ½Π°[6], Ρ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠΈΡΠΎΠΉ Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ, Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ Π΄Π΅ΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡ Π΅Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ ΠΌΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ), demanding that I choose (ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΡΡΡΠΈΠΉ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ Ρ ΡΠ΄Π΅Π»Π°Π» Π²ΡΠ±ΠΎΡ). And I had chosen β faced with the oncoming lights of the first house (ΠΈ Ρ Π²ΡΠ±ΡΠ°Π» β ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π» ΠΏΡΠΈΠ±Π»ΠΈΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΎΠ³Π½ΠΈ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠΌΠ°; to face β ΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΊΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΎΠΌΠΊΠ»ΠΈΡΡ), I had bartered away my mother's life with hardly a pause (Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΄Π°Π» ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Ρ ΠΌΠΎΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈ, Π΅Π΄Π²Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ»Π΅Π±Π°Π²ΡΠΈΡΡ; to barter away β ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΄Π°Π²Π°ΡΡΠΏΠΎΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΊΠΎΠΉΡΠ΅Π½Π΅; pause β ΠΏΠ°ΡΠ·Π°, ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ²Π°Π»; ΠΊΠΎΠ»Π΅Π±Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅, Π½Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ). It might be understandable, but that didn't make the guilt of it any less (ΡΡΠΎ, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π±ΡΡΡ, ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ = Π½Π°Π²Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΡ, Π½ΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°Π»ΠΎ ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Π²ΠΈΠ½Ρ Π½ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ΅; guilt β Π²ΠΈΠ½Π°; ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΠ½Ρ). No one had to know, however (ΠΎΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΊΠΎ ΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΌ Π½Π΅ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ·Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΊΡΠΎ-ΡΠΎ Π·Π½Π°Π» ΠΎΠ± ΡΡΠΎΠΌ: Β«Π½ΠΈΠΊΠΎΠΌΡ Π½Π΅ Π½Π°Π΄ΠΎ Π·Π½Π°ΡΡ ΠΎΠ± ΡΡΠΎΠΌΒ»); that was the good part (/ΠΈ/ ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎ). Her death would look natural β hell, would be natural (Π΅Π΅ ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ Π²ΡΠ³Π»ΡΠ΄Π΅ΡΡ Π΅ΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ, ΡΠ΅ΡΡ, Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ Π΅ΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠΉ) β and that's the way I intended to leave it (ΠΈ Ρ Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΈΡΠ°Π»ΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΡΠ°ΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ: Β«ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊ Ρ ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΈΡΠ°Π»ΡΡ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΒ»).
barter ['bRtq], understandable ["Andq'stxndqb(q)l], guilt [gIlt]
But it had all happened just the way I remembered it, of that I was sure. George Staub had come along and picked me up in his Mustang, Ichabod Crane's old pal with his head stitched on instead of under his arm, demanding that I choose. And I had chosen β faced with the oncoming lights of the first house, I had bartered away my mother's life with hardly a pause. It might be understandable, but that didn't make the guilt of it any less. No one had to know, however; that was the good part. Her death would look natural β hell, would be natural β and that's the way I intended to leave it.
I walked out of the graveyard in the lefthand rut (Ρ ΡΠ΅Π» Ρ ΠΊΠ»Π°Π΄Π±ΠΈΡΠ° ΠΏΠΎ Π»Π΅Π²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΊΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅), and when my foot struck my pack (ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΌΠΎΡ Π½ΠΎΠ³Π° ΡΠ΄Π°ΡΠΈΠ»Π°ΡΡ ΠΎ ΡΡΠΊΠ·Π°ΠΊ; to strike), I picked it up and slung it back over my shoulders (Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π» Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΈ Π·Π°Π±ΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ» Π·Π° ΠΏΠ»Π΅ΡΠΈ; to sling). Lights appeared at the bottom of the hill as if someone had given them the cue (/ΡΡΡ ΠΆΠ΅/ Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΆΡΡ Ρ ΠΎΠ»ΠΌΠ° ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ°Π·Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠ³Π½ΠΈ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΠΎ ΠΊΡΠΎ-ΡΠΎ Π΄Π°Π» ΠΈΠΌ Π·Π½Π°ΠΊ; cue β Π·Π½Π°ΠΊ, ΡΠΈΠ³Π½Π°Π»ΠΊΠ½Π°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΊΠ»Ρ, ΠΊΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΌΡ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ Π΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡ). I stuck out my thumb (Ρ Π²ΡΡΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ» Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠ°Π»Π΅Ρ), oddly sure it was the old man in the Dodge β he'd come back this way looking for me (ΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΠΌ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·ΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ» ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΊ Π½Π° βΠ΄ΠΎΠ΄ΠΆΠ΅β: ΠΎΠ½ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π²ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡ ΡΡΠ΄Π° ΠΈ ΠΈΡΠΊΠ°Π» ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ), of course he had, it gave the story that final finishing roundness (ΠΊΠΎΠ½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΄Π°Π²Π°Π»ΠΎ ΠΈΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ, Π·Π°Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠ³Π»ΠΎΡΡΡ).
Only it wasn't the old guy (ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ» Π½Π΅ ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΊ). It was a tobacco-chewing farmer in a Ford pick-up truck filled with apple baskets (ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ» ΠΆΡΡΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΠ°Π±Π°ΠΊ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΌΠ΅Ρ Π½Π° ΠΏΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΏΠ΅ βΡΠΎΡΠ΄β, Π½Π°ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΊΠΎΡΠ·ΠΈΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠ±Π»ΠΎΠΊ/Ρ ΡΠ±Π»ΠΎΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ; truck β Π³ΡΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΠΊ), a perfectly ordinary fellow (ΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΏΠ°ΡΠ΅Π½Ρ): not old and not dead (Π½Π΅ ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΉ ΠΈ Π½Π΅ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΠΉ).