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In 1973, Moss Harlingen, one of Joe's poker buddies, had murdered his father. They had been hunting deer up in Greenville and it had supposedly been one of those tragic accidents, but the shooting of Abel Harlingen had been no accident. Moss simply laid up behind a fallen tree with his rifle and waited until his father splashed across a small stream about fifty yards down the hill from where Moss was. Moss potted his father as easily as a clay duck in a shooting gallery. He thought he had killed his father for money. Moss's business, Big Ditch Construction, had two notes falling due with two different banks within six weeks” time, and neither would extend because of the other. Moss went to Abel, but his dad refused to help, although he could afford to. So Moss shot his father and inherited a pot of money after the county coroner handed down a verdict of death by misadventure. The notes were paid and Moss Harlingen really believed (except perhaps in his deepest dreams) that he had committed murder for gain. The real motive had been something else. Far in the past, when Moss was ten and his brother Emory seven, Abel's wife went south to Rhode Island for one whole winter. Her brother had died suddenly, and his wife needed help getting on her feet. While their mother was gone, there were several incidents of buggery at the Harlingen place. The buggery stopped when the boys” mother came back, and the incidents were never repeated. Moss had forgotten all about them. He never remembered lying awake in the dark anymore, lying awake in mortal terror and watching the doorway for the shadow of his father. He had absolutely no recollection of lying with his mouth pressed against his forearm, salty tears of shame and rage squeezing out of his hot eyes and coursing down his cold face to his mouth as Abel Harlingen slathered lard onto his cock and then slid it up his son's back door with a grunt and a sigh. It had all made so little impression on Moss that he could not remember biting his arm until it bled to keep from crying out, and he certainly could not remember Emory's breathless bird-cries from the next bed -'Please, Daddy, no, Daddy, please not me tonight, please, Daddy.” Children, of course, forget very easily. But some memory might have lingered, because when Moss Harlingen actually pulled the trigger on the buggering son of a whore, as the echoes first rolled away and then rolled back, finally disappearing into the great forested silence of the up-Maine wilderness, Moss whispered: “Not you, Em, not tonight.”
“I'm as sane as you are,” Anderson said through the door. “I'm so stiff I can hardly walk and I've got an Ace bandage wrapped around my right knee for some reason I can't quite remember and I'm hungry as a bear and I know I've lost too much weight... but I am sane, Gard. I think you may have
at nothing; and the strong assurance that if she impeached him, the
adopt his name. It is, nevertheless, highly conducive to accurate
“Only good ones."
'The true religion is, my lord.'
One of the paramedics knelt beside the body, checking Naomi for a pulse, although in these circumstances, his action was such a formality that it was almost harebrained.
furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be
rising and falling, faint with distance.
the friend with whom it could find repose. "I am worn out with
necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible of
with great energy.
I have brooded on that subject so long, that every breath of suspicion
books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and
and of unearthly colours), he was frequently supposed by the more
Thursday morning for one hour precisely, so as not to lose much of your
horse-chestnuts of England. Although this zigzag has lost us at least a
to him the grounds of that misconception of your sentiments, which,
in which that character was placed, went a great way in accounting for
the wheels, the rhythmic beat of the sixteen hoofs, all became
shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to
And,' said Mr Willet, arriving at his logical conclusion, 'is to be
effectively” in “taking milk out to her”. Certanly we won’t help a
The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, where Jeanie was
"Has this been all _your_ doing, then?" cried Fanny. "Good heaven! how
Do not undeceive them. This is the errand I am bound upon. I know I may
"Where I hope to cut some figure in the--er--World of Fashion."
'What is this!' said Gashford, turning it over with an air of perfectly
They had come too far, survived too much.
limited; and therefore I could never have succeeded with metaphysics or
former thoughts. 'Well worthy of them. No riches'--here he stroked his
be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which
since the days of Jack Broughton and Mendoza."
time.'
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In 1973, Moss Harlingen, one of Joe's poker buddies, had murdered his father. They had been hunting deer up in Greenville and it had supposedly been one of those tragic accidents, but the shooting of Abel Harlingen had been no accident. Moss simply laid up behind a fallen tree with his rifle and waited until his father splashed across a small stream about fifty yards down the hill from where Moss was. Moss potted his father as easily as a clay duck in a shooting gallery. He thought he had killed his father for money. Moss's business, Big Ditch Construction, had two notes falling due with two different banks within six weeks” time, and neither would extend because of the other. Moss went to Abel, but his dad refused to help, although he could afford to. So Moss shot his father and inherited a pot of money after the county coroner handed down a verdict of death by misadventure. The notes were paid and Moss Harlingen really believed (except perhaps in his deepest dreams) that he had committed murder for gain. The real motive had been something else. Far in the past, when Moss was ten and his brother Emory seven, Abel's wife went south to Rhode Island for one whole winter. Her brother had died suddenly, and his wife needed help getting on her feet. While their mother was gone, there were several incidents of buggery at the Harlingen place. The buggery stopped when the boys” mother came back, and the incidents were never repeated. Moss had forgotten all about them. He never remembered lying awake in the dark anymore, lying awake in mortal terror and watching the doorway for the shadow of his father. He had absolutely no recollection of lying with his mouth pressed against his forearm, salty tears of shame and rage squeezing out of his hot eyes and coursing down his cold face to his mouth as Abel Harlingen slathered lard onto his cock and then slid it up his son's back door with a grunt and a sigh. It had all made so little impression on Moss that he could not remember biting his arm until it bled to keep from crying out, and he certainly could not remember Emory's breathless bird-cries from the next bed -'Please, Daddy, no, Daddy, please not me tonight, please, Daddy.” Children, of course, forget very easily. But some memory might have lingered, because when Moss Harlingen actually pulled the trigger on the buggering son of a whore, as the echoes first rolled away and then rolled back, finally disappearing into the great forested silence of the up-Maine wilderness, Moss whispered: “Not you, Em, not tonight.”
“I'm as sane as you are,” Anderson said through the door. “I'm so stiff I can hardly walk and I've got an Ace bandage wrapped around my right knee for some reason I can't quite remember and I'm hungry as a bear and I know I've lost too much weight... but I am sane, Gard. I think you may have
at nothing; and the strong assurance that if she impeached him, the
adopt his name. It is, nevertheless, highly conducive to accurate
“Only good ones."
'The true religion is, my lord.'
One of the paramedics knelt beside the body, checking Naomi for a pulse, although in these circumstances, his action was such a formality that it was almost harebrained.
furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be
rising and falling, faint with distance.
the friend with whom it could find repose. "I am worn out with
necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible of
with great energy.
I have brooded on that subject so long, that every breath of suspicion
books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and
and of unearthly colours), he was frequently supposed by the more
Thursday morning for one hour precisely, so as not to lose much of your
horse-chestnuts of England. Although this zigzag has lost us at least a
to him the grounds of that misconception of your sentiments, which,
in which that character was placed, went a great way in accounting for
the wheels, the rhythmic beat of the sixteen hoofs, all became
shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to
And,' said Mr Willet, arriving at his logical conclusion, 'is to be
effectively” in “taking milk out to her”. Certanly we won’t help a
The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, where Jeanie was
"Has this been all _your_ doing, then?" cried Fanny. "Good heaven! how
Do not undeceive them. This is the errand I am bound upon. I know I may
"Where I hope to cut some figure in the--er--World of Fashion."
'What is this!' said Gashford, turning it over with an air of perfectly
They had come too far, survived too much.
limited; and therefore I could never have succeeded with metaphysics or
former thoughts. 'Well worthy of them. No riches'--here he stroked his
be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which
since the days of Jack Broughton and Mendoza."
time.'
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