from John Updike's Rabbit, Run:
She stumbles into her skirt and puts her blouse over her arms and turns away from him meekly and asks, “Button my back.” Buttoning the pink cloth down her quiet spine makes him cry; the hotness in his eyes works up to a sting and he sees the little babyish buttons through a cluster of discs of watery light like petals of apple blossoms. Water hesitates on his lids and then runs down his cheeks; the wetness is delicious. He wishes he could cry for hours, for just this tiny spill relieves him. But a man’s tears are grudging and his stop before they are out of the apartment. As he closes the door he feels he has spent his whole life opening and closing this door.
Nelson takes the rubber panda along and every time he makes it squeak Rabbit’s stomach aches. The town now is bleached by a sun nearing the height of noon.
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