Chapter Thirteen
He was stick tall; skinny with a heavy nose and nearly nonexistent eyebrows. His chin was chiseled above a long narrow neck, and he was wearing blue jeans cinched around a checkered red cotton shirt. From the compartment door, he looked her up and down and crossways and clandestinely peeked at the silhouette of her body shivering beneath a loose-fitting girl-garment. She seemed groggy. A mystery of n*****s and hips and cascading hair punching caused a long, inaudible murmur from his lips. She was beautiful, he thought, and he wondered what she was doing with this old man. Perhaps he was her father. But he couldn’t be a father; a father wouldn’t be looking at his daughter like this old man was looking at her, and she wouldn’t be sitting with her knees spread across his lap
