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On 15 (I'm going to skip back to the train;
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I'm just going to rack these up for you, and then we'll think about
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them), this is Haze waiting to be seated in the dining
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car of the train: Haze hesitated and saw the
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hand jerk again [the hand of the steward].
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He lurched up the aisle, falling against two tables on the
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way and getting his hand wet in somebody's coffee.
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The steward placed him with three youngish women dressed like parrots.
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Their hands were resting on the table, red speared at the tips.
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He sat and looked in front of him-- [I'm skipping down a little bit],
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glum and intense, at the neck of the woman across from him.
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At intervals her hand holding the cigarette would pass the