Going to Harvard.
We have sold Benjy's He lay on the ground under the window, bellowing.
We have sold Benjy's pasture so that Quentin may go to Harvard a brother to you. Your little brother.
You should have a car it's done you no end of good dont you think so Quentin I call him Quentin at once you see I have heard so much about him from Candace.
Why shouldn't you I want my boys to be more than friends yes Candace and Quentin more than friends Father I have committed what a pity you had no brother or sister No sister no sister had no sister Dont ask Quentin he and Mr Compson both feel a little insulted when I am strong enough to come down to the table I am going on nerve now I'll pay for it after it's all over and you have taken my little daughter away from me My little sister had no. If I could say Mother.
Mother
Unless I do what I am tempted to and take you instead I dont think Mr Compson could overtake the car.
Ah Herbert Candace do you hear that She wouldn't look at me soft stubborn jaw-angle not back-looking You needn't be jealous though it's just an old woman he's flattering a grown married daughter I cant believe it.
Nonsense you look like a girl you are lots younger than Candace color in your cheeks like a girl A face reproachful tearful an odor of camphor and of tears a voice weeping steadily and softly beyond the twilit door the twilight-colored smell of honeysuckle.
Bringing empty trunks down the attic stairs they sounded like coffins French Lick.
Found not death at the salt lick
Hats not unbleached and not hats.
In three years I can not wear a hat.
I could not.
Was.
Will there be hats then since I was not and not Harvard then.
Where the best of thought Father said clings like dead ivy vines upon old dead brick.
Not Harvard then.
Not to me, anyway.
Again.
Sadder than was.
Again.
Saddest of all.
Again.
Spoade had a shirt on; then it must be.
When I can see my shadow again if not careful that I tricked into the water shall tread again upon my impervious shadow.
But no sister.
I wouldn't have done it.
I wont have my daughter spied on I wouldn't have.
How can I control any of them when you have always taught them to have no respect for me and my wishes I know you look down on my people but is that any reason for teaching my children my own children I suffered for to have no respect Trampling my shadow's bones into the concrete with hard heels and then I was hearing the watch, and I touched the letters through my coat.
I will not have my daughter spied on by you or Quentin or anybody no matter what you think she has done
At least you agree there is reason for having her watched
I wouldn't have I wouldn't have.
I know you wouldn't I didn't mean to speak so sharply but have no respect for each other for themselves
But why did she The chimes began as I stepped on my shadow, but it was the quarter hour.
The Deacon wasn't in sight anywhere. think I would have could have
She didn't mean that that's the way women do things it's because she loves Caddy
The street lamps would go down the hill then rise toward town I walked upon the belly of my shadow.
I could extend my hand beyond it. feeling Father behind me beyond the rasping darkness of summer and August the street lamps Father and I protect women from one another from themselves our women Women are like that they dont acquire knowledge of people we are for that they are just born with a practical fertility of suspicion that makes a crop every so often and usually right they have an affinity for evil for supplying whatever the evil lacks in itself for drawing it about them instinctively as you do bed-clothing in slumber fertilising the mind for it until the evil has served its purpose whether it ever existed or no He was coming along between a couple of freshmen.
He hadn't quite recovered from the parade, for he gave me a salute, a very superior-officerish kind.
"I want to see you a minute," I said, stopping.
"See me?
All right.
See you again, fellows," he said, stopping and turning back; "glad to have chatted with you." That was the Deacon, all over.
Talk about your natural psychologists.
They said he hadn't missed a train at the beginning of school in forty years, and that he could pick out a Southerner with one glance.
He never missed, and once he had heard you speak, he could name your state.
He had a regular uniform he met trains in, a sort of Uncle Tom's cabin outfit, patches and all.
"Yes, suh. Right dis way, young marster, hyer we is," taking your bags. "Hyer, boy, come hyer and git dese grips." Whereupon a moving mountain of luggage would edge up, revealing a white boy of about fifteen, and the Deacon would hang another bag on him somehow and drive him off. "Now, den, dont you crap hit.
Yes, suh, young marster, jes give de old nigger yo room number, and hit'll be done got cold afar when you arrives."