All the Pretty Horses, Cormac McCarthy (1992)

“When the truck finally pulled out and they saw him still standing they offered their bundles for him to sit on and he did so and he nodded and dozed to the hum of the tires on the blacktop and the rain stopped and the night cleared and the moon that had already risen raced among the high wires by the highway side like a silver music note burning in constant and lavish dark and the passing fields were rich from the rain with the smell of earth and grain and peppers and sometimes, sometimes the smell of horses.”


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