Without Magnolias [antikvár]

-L • Behind him Luther heard the bus as it crossed the railroad tracks, the slight gulp oL the motor as the gears were shifted, then the stuttering mutter of the tires before they bit once more into the smooth macadam road that led into the little Florida town. It was early morning and there was a nip of cold in the air; he stuck his hands deep into his pants pockets as he walked along with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, turning his head a little every now and then when the smoke came too near his eyes. He was thinking about breakfast, and as he turned off the pavement onto a side street he could smell wood smoke in the air, sharpening his appetite. Ahead lay Hannibal Square—a cluster of several grocery stores, a barbershop, three poolrooms, and what passed for a hotel; in the morning light all had the soft silver gray of unpainted and weather-worn wood seen not too closely, but by noon they would seem merely faded and ugly. As Luther passed the hotel a big woman was standing on the side stoop with her hands against her hips, endless and incapable of being completely confined within the wash dress of blue and white. Her head, too small for the broad shoulders which supported it, was shaped like a cannon ball and set low to the rest of her body with scarcely any neck; she wore no stockings, and the elephantine black columns of her legs ended in bedroom slippers, tattered and run over at the heels. Seeing Luther pass, she smiled and waved a heavy hand, then turned back inside. In the distance he heard a car start, catch with a roar, then sputter and backfire into silence again. He turned right at the next corner and cut across to the opposite side of the dirt street. When he came to the house near the corner he went in at the gate, running quickly up the wooden steps onto the narrow porch. From the moment he opened the front door he could smell the aroma