Halfway down the long hotel vestibule, he thought that probably hewas going to be late, and hurried on into the street to get out hismotorcycle from the corner where the next-door superintendent let himkeep it. On the jewelry store at the corner he read that it was ten to nine;he had time to spare. The sun filtered through the tall downtown buildings,and he--because for himself, for just going along thinking, he did not havea name-he swung onto the machine, savoring the idea of the ride. Themotor whirred between his legs, and a cool wind whipped his pantslegs. He let the ministries zip past (the pink, the white), and a series of stores on the main street, their windows flash ing. Now he was beginning the most pleasant part of the run, the real ride: a long street bordered withtrees, very little traffic, with spacious villas whose gardens rambled all theway down to the sidewalks, which were barely indi cated by low hedges. Abit inattentive perhaps, but tooling along on the right side of the street, heallowed himself to be carried away by the freshness, by the weightlesscontraction of this hardly begun day. This involuntary relaxa tion, possibly,kept him from preventing the accident. When he saw that the womanstanding on the corner had rushed into the crosswalk while he still had thegreen light, it was already somewhat too late for a simple solu tion. Hebraked hard with foot and hand, wrenching him self to the left; he heard thewoman scream, and at the collision his vision went. It was like falling asleep all at once. He came to abruptly. Four or five young men were get ting him out from under the cycle. He felt the taste of salt and blood, oneknee hurt, and when they hoisted him up he yelped, he couldn't bear the presssure on his right arm. Voices which did not seem to belong to thefaces hanging above him encouraged him cheerfully with jokes and assurances. His single solace was to hear someone else confirm that thelights indeed had
Halfway down the long hotel vestibule, he thought that probably hewas going to be late, and hurried on into the street to get out hismotorcycle from the corner where the next-door superintendent let himkeep it. On the jewelry store at the corner he read that it was ten to nine;he had time to spare. The sun filtered through the tall downtown buildings,and he--because for himself, for just going along thinking, he did not havea name-he swung onto the machine, savoring the idea of the ride. Themotor whirred between his legs, and a cool wind whipped his pantslegs. He let the ministries zip past (the pink, the white), and a series of stores on the main street, their windows flash ing. Now he was beginning the most pleasant part of the run, the real ride: a long street bordered withtrees, very little traffic, with spacious villas whose gardens rambled all theway down to the sidewalks, which were barely indi cated by low hedges. Abit inattentive perhaps, but tooling along on the right side of the street, heallowed himself to be carried away by the freshness, by the weightlesscontraction of this hardly begun day. This involuntary relaxa tion, possibly,kept him from preventing the accident. When he saw that the womanstanding on the corner had rushed into the crosswalk while he still had thegreen light, it was already somewhat too late for a simple solu tion. Hebraked hard with foot and hand, wrenching him self to the left; he heard thewoman scream, and at the collision his vision went. It was like falling asleep all at once. He came to abruptly. Four or five young men were get ting him out from under the cycle. He felt the taste of salt and blood, oneknee hurt, and when they hoisted him up he yelped, he couldn't bear the presssure on his right arm. Voices which did not seem to belong to thefaces hanging above him encouraged him cheerfully with jokes and assurances. His single solace was to hear someone else confirm that thelights indeed had