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William Faulkner, SANCTUARY – WordPress.com - literature save 2

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and laid the hat with the other garments and prepared to lie down again. Again she<br />

paused. She opened the raincoat and produced a <strong>com</strong>pact from somewhere and, watching<br />

her motions in the tiny mirror, she spread and fluffed her hair with her fingers and<br />

powdered her face and replaced the <strong>com</strong>pact and looked at the watch again and fastened<br />

the raincoat. She moved the garments one by one under the quilt and lay down and drew<br />

the quilt to her chin. The voices had got quiet for a moment and in the silence Tommy<br />

could hear a faint, steady chatter of the shucks inside the mattress where Temple lay, her<br />

hands crossed on her breast and her legs straight and close and decorous, like an effigy on<br />

an ancient tomb.<br />

The voices were still; he had <strong>com</strong>pletely forgot them until he heard Goodwin say<br />

"Stop it. Stop that!" A chair crashed over; he heard Goodwin's light thudding feet; the<br />

chair clattered along the porch as though it had been kicked aside, and crouching, his<br />

elbows out a little in squat, bear-like alertness, Tommy heard dry, light sounds like<br />

billiard balls. "Tommy," Goodwin said.<br />

When necessary he could move with that thick, lightning-like celerity of badgers<br />

or coons. He was around the house and on the porch in time to see Gowan slam into the<br />

wall and slump along it and plunge full length off the porch into the weeds, and Popeye<br />

in the door, his head thrust forward. "Grab him there!" Goodwin said. Tommy sprang<br />

upon Popeye in a sidling rush.<br />

"I got--hah!" he said as Popeye slashed savagely at his face; "you would, would<br />

you? Hole up hyer."<br />

Popeye ceased. "Jesus Christ. You let them sit around here all night, swilling that<br />

goddarn stuff; I told you. Jesus Christ."<br />

Goodwin and Van were a single shadow, locked and hushed and furious. "Let<br />

go!" Van shouted. "I'll kill . . ." Tommy sprang to them. They jammed Van against the<br />

wall and held him motionless.<br />

"Got him?" Goodwin said.<br />

"Yeuh. I got him. Hole up hyer. You done whupped him."<br />

"By God, I'll--"<br />

"Now, now; whut you want to kill him fer? You caint eat him, kin you? You want<br />

Mr. Popeye to start guttin' us all with that ere artermatic?"<br />

Then it was over, gone like a furious gust of black wind, leaving a peaceful<br />

vacuum in which they moved quietly about, lifting Gowan out of the weeds with lowspoken,<br />

amicable directions to one another. They carried him into the hall, where the<br />

woman stood, and to the door of the room where Temple was.<br />

"She's locked it," Van said. He struck the door, high. "Open the door," he shouted.<br />

"We're bringing you a customer."<br />

"Hush," Goodwin said. "There's no lock on it. Push it."<br />

"Sure," Van said; "I'll push it." He kicked it. The chair buckled and sprang into<br />

the room. Van banged the door open and they entered, carrying Gowan's legs. Van kicked<br />

the chair across the room. Then he saw Temple standing in the corner behind the bed. His<br />

hair was broken about his face, long as a girl's. He flung it back with a toss of his head.<br />

His chin was bloody and he deliberately spat blood onto the floor.<br />

"Go on," Goodwin said, carrying Gowan's shoulders, "put him on the bed."

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