Explore "As I Lay Dying" by William Faulkner on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Anse keeps on rubbing his knees. His overalls are faded; on one knee a serge patch cut out of a pair of Sunday pants, wore iron-slick. "No man mislikes it more than me," he says.
"A fellow's got to guess ahead now and then," I say. "But, come long and short, it won't be no harm done neither way."