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

Goodwin took her wrists and drew them steadily apart. Slowly and steadily he
carried her hands around behind her and held them in one of his. With the other hand he
opened the coat. The nightdress was of faded pink crepe, lacetrimmed, laundered and
laundered until, like the garment on the wire, the lace was a fibrous mass.
"Hah," he said. "Dressed for company."
"Whose fault is it if this is the only one I have? Whose fault is it? Not mine. I've
given them away to nigger maids after one night. But do you think any nigger would take
this and not laugh in my face?"
He let the coat fall to. He released her hands and she drew the coat together. With
his hand on her shoulder he began to push her toward the door. "Go on," he said. Her
shoulder gave. It alone moved, her body turning on her hips, her face reverted, watching
him. "Go on," he said. But her torso alone turned, her hips and head still touching the
wall. He turned and crossed the room and went swiftly around the bed and caught Temple
by the front of the raincoat with one hand. He began to shake her. Holding her up by the
gathered wad of coat he shook her, her small body clattering soundlessly inside the loose
garment, her shoulders and thighs thumping against the wall. "You little fool!" he said.
"You little fool!" Her eyes were quite wide, almost black, the lamplight on her face and
two tiny reflections of his face in her pupils like peas in two inkwells.
He released her. She began to sink to the floor, the raincoat rustling about her. He
caught her up and began to shake her again, looking over his shoulder at the woman. "Get
the lamp," he said. The woman did not move. Her head was bent a little; she appeared to
muse upon them. Goodwin swept his other arm under Temple's knees. She felt herself
swooping, then she was lying on the bed beside Gowan, on her back, jouncing to the
dying chatter of the shucks. She watched him cross the room and lift the lamp from the
mantel. The woman had turned her head, following him also, her face sharpening out of
the approaching lamp in profile. "Go on," he said. She turned, her face turning into
shadow, the lamp now on her back and on his hand on her shoulder. His shadow blotted
the room completely; his arm in silhouette back-reaching, drew to the door. Gowan
snored, each respiration choking to a huddle fall, as though he would never breathe again.
Tommy was outside the door, in the hall.
"They gone down to the truck yet?" Goodwin said.
"Not yit," Tommy said.
"Better go and see about it," Goodwin said. They went on. Tommy watched them
enter another door. Then he went to the kitchen, silent on his bare feet, his neck craned a
little with listening. In the kitchen Popeye sat, straddling a chair, smoking. Van stood at
the table, before a fragment of mirror, combing his hair with a pocket comb. Upon the
table lay a damp, blood-stained cloth and a burning cigarette. Tommy squatted outside
the door, in the darkness.
He was there when Goodwin came out with the raincoat. Goodwin entered the
kitchen without seeing him. "Where's Tommy?" he said. Tommy heard Popeye say
something, then Goodwin emerged with Van following him, the raincoat on his arm now.
"Come on, now," Goodwin said. "Let's get that stuff out of here."
Tommy's pale eyes began to glow faintly, like those of a cat. The woman could
see them in the darkness when he crept into the room after Popeye, and while Popeye
stood over the bed where Temple lay. They glowed suddenly out of the darkness at her,
then they went away and she could hear him breathing beside her; again they glowed up