“Harold Beaver leaned over the engine and shook his head. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I just don’t know.” He played with a torque wrench, spinning it around on his fingertips. “What if you’ve got a leak from the cooling system into the oil? I think you might.”
““Steps from the ocean!” “Waterfront views!” That’s how the ad in the local yellow pages described The Starlight Hotel, that late great fleabag that enjoyed its real heyday during the twenties and thirties, before everything went to hell.”
“I am going to think about the night I finally fell in love with Polly, finally for the first time, that is. Anything for diversion, even though thoughts of love are what I should be diverting myself from, seeing how hot the soup is that love has got me into.”
“By the hard time of 1904, that moment of sedition and botched rebellion, Cur Greathouse had worked four years in the Blackpine camps of Helena, West Virginia. Some called them seasons, but the wolves worked year-round, through hail and flood, illness and mood.”
