Sample from Cormac McCarthy:
Outer Dark, page 65-66:
"They rode on through the new green woods under the rising sun where wakerobins marked the roadway whth their foiled wax spears, climbing, the man jiggling the reins across the mule's tatter withers, through a cutback and into brief sunlight wher the olds woman hooked her bonnet forward on her had and peered sideways at the other like a cowled mandrill, her puckerstrung mouth working the snuff that lay in her lower lip, turning again, a jet of black spittle lancing without trajectory across the edge of the wagon and into the woods, descending, the man working the break, the wagon creaking and sidling a little in loose gravel, onto the flatland again, fording a weedgrown branch where dead water rusted the stones and through a canebrake where myriad small birds flitted and rustled dryly like locusts."
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My edit:
" "
Thank you. I like mine better.
It's really not a bad book. I can't help picking on it though.