A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.

She had full, rouged lips and wide–spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little rolled clusters, like sausages.

The bunk house was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted.

And these shelves were loaded with little articles, soap and talcum powder, razors and those Western magazines ranch men love to read and scoff at and secretly believe.

in and out of the beam flies shot like rushing stars.

George looked over at Slim and saw the calm, God–like eyes fastened on him.

George came quietly out of the brush and the rabbit scuttled back into Lennie’s brain.

The deep green pool of the Salinas River was still in the late afternoon. Already the sun had left the valley to go climbing up the slopes of the Gabilan mountains, and the hilltops were rosy in the sun.

On the sandy bank under the trees the leaves lie deep and so crisp that a lizard makes a great skittering if he runs among them.