She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. .
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