Through the bloody September twilight, aftermath of sixty-two rainless days, it had gone like a fire in dry grass — the rumor, the story, whatever it was. Something about Miss Minnie Cooper …
He anticipated even the names of our cars.
From Dry September.
September 20th, 2011 at 5:04PM
Great post, UD. He was surely ahead of his time, as well as behind it with his historical perspective.
September 20th, 2011 at 11:06PM
Faulkner: the decadent Old South rushes headlong to meet the decadent New South.
I’d never read this story, but I still prefer “A Rose for Miss Emily.” Necrophilia never seemed so genteel.