As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner:
I notice how it takes a lazy man, a man that hates moving, to get set on moving once he does get started off, the same as he was set on staying still, like it aint the moving he hates so much as the starting and the stopping. And like he would be kind of proud of whatever come up to make the moving or the setting still look hard. He set there on the wagon, hunched up, blinking, listening to us tell about how quick the bridge went and how high the water was, and I be durn if he didn’t act like he was proud of it, like he had made the river rise himself.
“You say it’s higher than you ever see it before?” he says. “God’s will be done,” he says. “I reckon it wont go down much by morning, neither,” he says.
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