His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. I’ll drive you home once my buzz goes away. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. I don’t idealize you.
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