His face was a gaze of primal obtuseness.

The boy scout struggled after her with the bundle that was too heavy for him. Studs watched them, and thought unprintable things about old lady Gorman.

Ever since he had been a kid, he had wished and waited, and there had been no change except for the worst.

Please don't follow in my footsteps. I'm already knee-deep in them, and am sinking rapidly...

He had a picture in his mind of Studs Lonigan courageously telling life and the world to stick itself up it's old tomato.

There's one good kind of writer - a dead one.