" Marjorie did not like the look of them at all. They were going to hassle her. They were doing it already, just by being there. She didn’t like their faces, the smiles that were really nothing more than leers. She didn’t like the close-set eyes, the lean, unshaven cheeks, the wind-burned, sunburned high foreheads. Even at a glance you could tell they were brothers. They had the same brutal, inbred faces. Like the houses, like the trees, the people out here looked stunted, almost stillborn, as if centuries of social immobility had thinned their seed, bled them dry. She had seen the look in people along the highway, in the face of the fat woman inside the store. To her eyes, used to diversity, there was a troubling uniformity about them all, something that spoke of isolation, and a dull and thoughtless cruelty. "