A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically.

An’ live on the fatta the lan’.

The red light dimmed on the coals.

Slowly, like a terrier who doesn’t want to bring a ball to its master, Lennie approached, drew back, approached again.

The water is warm too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.

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

You’d drink out of a gutter if you was thirsty.

Hide in the brush till I come for you.

“I forgot,” Lennie said softly. “I tried not to forget. Honest to God I did, George.”

“Poor bastard,” he said softly, and then went on whistling again.