.

.

and there the crack across the mirror, the wriggling, distorted, foolish crack that seemed alive for all its sameness.

And there was always the noise of wind which became a corollary of his pain, pulsing with it, never quiet, an overtone that tragically would not yield.
Into the blur of wind and weakness and pain came two miracles--a red geranium peering out of the dusk of the room like a glowing coal, unfamiliar and therefore a delight--a bit of velvet laughter in the drab that caught his whole attention.

.