The end of our club is to advance conversation and friendship.

What was wanted was more inwardness, more feeling.

His voice rises and falls in a sly, scratchy singsong — no wonder he calls himself Weezy — that can sound like a cackly old man or a wisecracking kid.

[W]e might be disturbed during the night by an order being given to go about, and by hearing in the quiet hours of the morning the familiar inquiry of How's her head? Mine often ached with the din of the men caulking all day long!