WILLIAM FAULKNER, Fox Hunt - literature save 2

But the youth did. He looked back at the man on the bay horse, the cigaretteburning in his hand, the plume of smoke faint and windless in the sunny silence, and atthe woman on the chestnut, her arms lifted and her hands busy in her bright, cloudy hair;projecting, trying to project, himself, after the way of the young, toward that remote andinaccessible she, trying to encompass the vain and inarticulate instant of division anddespair which, being young, was very like rage: rage at the lost woman, despair of theman in whose shape there walked the tragic and inescapable earth her ruin. "She wascrying," he said, then he began to curse, savagely, without point or subject."Come on," the older man said. He did not look back. "I reckon them huntbreakfast hoe-cakes will be about ready time we get home."