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Updated: May 5, 2025
During the past ten days I had seen thousands of such refugees, and I had yet to hear one of them cry out or complain or protest. These who passed us now were like that. Their heavy peasant faces expressed dumb bewilderment nothing else. They went on up the road into the gathering dusk as we went down, and almost at once the sound of their clunking tread died out behind us.
She did not, however, have the energy and that fly kept buzzing around her ears. She kept swatting it but missing it each time. The footsteps were those of a man's. She heard boot soles clunking hurriedly up the stairs under her miniature chandalier. Were they Michael's footsteps? No, surely not and yet she hoped they were all the same. There before her, in leather boots,was Hispanic Betty.
Jeff expected him by nine-thirty at the latest; but it was actually getting along toward ten-thirty before Jeff, who had been dozing lightly in the dim-lit hall, oblivious to the fanged attentions of some large mosquitoes, roused suddenly as he heard the sound of a rambling but familiar step clunking along the wooden sidewalk of Clay Street.
Presently, as we sat there, we heard above the rumbling of cannon wheels, the nimble clunking of hurrying hoofs and the heavy thudding of booted feet, falling and rising all in unison a new note from overhead, a combination of whir and flutter and whine. We looked aloft.
One evening it might have been about a year and a half after the marriage of his daughter Felix Millsap was on his way home from work, a middle-aged figure, moving with the clunking gait of a tired laborer who wears cheap, heavy shoes, his broad splayed hands dangling at the ends of his arms as though in either of them he carried an invisible weight.
Being German they expressed their gratefulness in song. We had difficulty getting into the place, so completely was it filled. Men sat in the window ledges, and in the few chairs that were available, and even in the fireplace, and on the ends of the bar, clunking their heels against the wooden baseboards.
With her head thrown away back, her hands resting on her bony hips, and her feet clunking inside a pair of boys' shoes too large for her, she crossed the lawn at an angle. In all things about her in her gait, despite its limp, in her pose, her figure there was something masterful, something dominating, something tremendously proud.
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