Irony

"... Here—feel right here." She took Lennie's hand and put it on her head. "Feel right aroun' there an' see how soft it is."

Jesus Christ, Lennie! You can’t remember nothing that happens, but you remember ever’ word I say.

Ever’body gonna be nice to you. Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ’em.

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.

Well, that was a lie. An’ I’m damn glad it was. If I was a relative of yours I’d shoot myself.

’Long as you won’t get out and leave me alone, you might as well set down.

A guy can talk to you an’ be sure you won’t go blabbin’. Couple of weeks an’ them pups’ll be all right. George knows what he’s about. Jus’ talks, an’ you don’t understand nothing.

And scattered about the floor were a number of personal possessions; for, being alone, Crooks could leave his things about, and being a stable buck and a cripple, he was more permanent than the other men, and he had accumulated more possessions than he could carry on his back.

"George gonna give me hell," he said. "George gonna wish he was alone an' not have me botherin' him."