Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Capes spoke casually of their plans for work. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. I enjoyed depicting the dichotomy of the peace and safety of the suburbs while also showing its dark side in the form of high school villain Katy Pfister, who, by the way, never gets her comeuppance like some of the other characters do.
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