Johnyxxx
Senior Member
- Joined
- Oct 28, 2014
- Member Type
- Interested in Language
- Native Language
- Czech
- Home Country
- Czech Republic
- Current Location
- Czech Republic
Hello,
Can anybody explain to me what exactly the bold text mean?
“Probably.” She avoided a crater full of brown water and wrestled the car back across the slimy surface of the road. “Seth Marcy’s nobody pet, anyhow. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but he’s the kind of man who doesn’t open his mouth unless he has something unpleasant to say. I feel sorry for Elora.”
“We’ll forget him, then, till we get a doctor. After that we can go to his house and tell him.”
We went on, not exactly racing but making incredible speed for the condition of the road. Anne handled the car with a magnificent blend of daring and judgment; I thought we weren’t going to make the bridge at the turn by the creek, but we got across it by a hair, and when we hit the road along the far bank of the bay the going was better. Even with the chances Anne took, I did not feel nervous about her driving. There was competence in the way her hands were resting on the wheel, in the way she sat behind it, alert but not tense. It was, indeed, strangely pleasant, that ride. We were in a private world of our own, with rain on our roof and streaking down the windows, shutting us in together. I liked it. For a mile or so I forgot our errand, forgot the bleak house behind us, and thought of nothing except that this fortuitous intimacy was different from anything that had ever happened to me before.
William Sloane, Edge of Running Water, 1939.
Thank you.
Can anybody explain to me what exactly the bold text mean?
“Probably.” She avoided a crater full of brown water and wrestled the car back across the slimy surface of the road. “Seth Marcy’s nobody pet, anyhow. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but he’s the kind of man who doesn’t open his mouth unless he has something unpleasant to say. I feel sorry for Elora.”
“We’ll forget him, then, till we get a doctor. After that we can go to his house and tell him.”
We went on, not exactly racing but making incredible speed for the condition of the road. Anne handled the car with a magnificent blend of daring and judgment; I thought we weren’t going to make the bridge at the turn by the creek, but we got across it by a hair, and when we hit the road along the far bank of the bay the going was better. Even with the chances Anne took, I did not feel nervous about her driving. There was competence in the way her hands were resting on the wheel, in the way she sat behind it, alert but not tense. It was, indeed, strangely pleasant, that ride. We were in a private world of our own, with rain on our roof and streaking down the windows, shutting us in together. I liked it. For a mile or so I forgot our errand, forgot the bleak house behind us, and thought of nothing except that this fortuitous intimacy was different from anything that had ever happened to me before.
William Sloane, Edge of Running Water, 1939.
Thank you.
