When she turned her head with that little tilt of the chin, when she smiled, she was like Marie.

Bud leaned forward, staring, his brows drawn together, breathing the short, quick breaths of emotion focussed upon one object, excluding all else.

Once, when Frank moved his body a little in the next seat, Bud's hand went out that way involuntarily.

The touch of Frank's rough coat sleeve recalled him brutally, so that he drew away with a wincing movement as though he bad been hurt.
All those months in the desert; all those months of the slow journeying northward; all the fought battles with memory, when he thought that he had won--all gone for nothing, their slow anodyne serving but to sharpen now the bite of merciless remembering.

His hand shook upon his knee.
Small beads of moisture oozed out upon his forehead.