[…] he thought for a minute with a freezing detached almost amused calm of the dreadful night inevitably awaiting him whether he drank much more or not, his room shaking with daemonic orchestras […] the vicious shouting, the strumming, the slamming, the pounding, the battling with insolent archfiends, the avalanche breaking down the door, the proddings from under the bed, and always, outside, the cries, the wailing, the terrible music, the dark’s spinets:

One night, Sylvio talked about why drug dealers resist drug robbers during a stickup.

She began to lose her sense of perspective, what was rightways up or down.

He has developed a sophisticated, inventive way to use these modulations that were quite common in the singers we heard there in the backlands of the northeast.”