[…] Aunt Lucy found out about it and woke me up the next morning with a switch in her hand. . . . But I got all mannish that morning, Joyce. I said, “Aunt Lucy, you ain’t gonna whip me no more. I’se a man now—and you ain’t gonna whip me.”

Monseigneur, it is not often your capuchin uncowls; least of all when he wishes to remain unknown! […]

Most of the booths had been scooped clean by the scalpel-sharp corner of the glacier in the crash. Three remained. Two of them were punctured and, inside, the once-human occupants had been fossilized into the walls by centuries upon centuries of patient ice.

The newscaster wrapped up the day's events.