“Branch sat hunched behind the wheel, driving with his left hand, using his right to lock the sleeping girl against his body. Annie Withers had a pretty face (unusual for an Oberlin coed) but a bad figure (S.O.P.). Her hips were large and her arms were too short and, worst of all, her legs were knotted and thick, dancer’s legs. Branch flicked a fingertip across her small breast and she stirred, blinking up at him. He smiled, so she closed her eyes. The speedometer read eighty, but Branch fixed t...hat fast, jamming his foot floorward. Eighty-three, eighty-five, now ninety. The wind screamed. Branch increased his pressure on the gas pedal and at ninety-five the customary panic built inside him, wetting his palms. God, how he longed to brake, to slow, to crawl. It was out of the question, naturally; Branch Scudder drove fast. Everybody knew that. At one hundred miles per hour, the Thunderbird began resenting; the motor roared, matching the scream of the wind. Up ahead lay Oberlin and Branch felt, as he always did upon approach, smug.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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