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He lowered the binoculars and looked over the country at large. Then he raised them again.

There looked to be men lying on the ground. He jacked his boots into the rocks and adjusted the focus.

The vehicles were four wheel drive trucks and Broncos with big all-terrain tires and winches and racks of rooflights.

The men appeared to be dead.

The third vehicle was a Bronco with lifted suspension and dark smoked windows.

He reached up and opened the driver side door. There was a man sitting in the seat looking at him.

Moss stumbled back, leveling the rifle. The man's face was bloody. He moved his lips dryly. Agua, cuate, he said. Agua, por dios.

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The car that hit Chigurh in the intersection three blocks from the house was a ten year old Buick that had run a stop sign.

There were no skidmarks at the site and the vehicle had made no attempt to stop...He crawled out of the passenger side door

and staggered to the sidewalk and sat in the grass of someone's lawn and looked at his arm. Bone sticking up under the skin. Not good.

A woman in a housedress ran out screaming.

Two teenage boys were standing there looking at him.

Are you all right, mister?

Yeah, he said. I'm all right. Let me just sit here a minute.

There's an ambulance comin. Man over yonder went to call one.

All right.

You sure you're all right.

Chigurh looked at them. What will you take for that shirt? he said.

Hints:

In 2008 (80th Oscars ceremony), the movie adaptation of this novel garnered 8 Academy Award nominations and subsequently won in 4 categories.

One of this author's novels was chosen as an Oprah's Book Club selection.

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Sorry for the delay...

This one could be fun:

"Excuse me a moment, but there's something climbing up your table," and with on loud Worraworraworraworraworra he jumped at the end of the tablecloth, pulled it to the ground, wrapped himself up in it three times, rolled to the other end of the room, and, after a terrible struggle, got his head into the daylight again, and said cheerfully: "Have I won?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

One day when the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of May, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow's fault, but it didn't matter very much;

In my next clue I'll most like give it away - this book is hard to quote from because nearly every paragraph has the name of a character in it.

Edited by doojable
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  • 2 weeks later...

"He who permits himself to tell a lie once, finds it much easier to do it a second and third time, till at length it becomes habitual; he tells lies without attending to it, and truths without the world's believing him. This falsehood of tongue leads to that of the heart, and in time depraves all its good dispositions."

"I never submitted the whole system of my opinions to the creed of any party of men whatever in religion, in philosophy, in politics, or in anything else where I was capable of thinking for myself. Such an addiction is the last degradation of a free and moral agent."

"There is no act, however virtuous, for which ingenuity may not find some bad motive."

"I agree with you that there is a natural aristocracy among men. The grounds of this are virtue and talents."

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From a literary figure who did not seem to have a rosy view of man:

Now I ask you: what can be expected of man since he is a being endowed with strange qualities? Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play you some nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself--as though that were so necessary-- that men still are men and not the keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will be able to desire nothing but by the calendar. And that is not all: even if man really were nothing but a piano-key, even if this were proved to him by natural science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable, but would purposely do something perverse out of simple ingratitude, simply to gain his point. And if he does not find means he will contrive destruction and chaos, will contrive sufferings of all sorts, only to gain his point! He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse (it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals), may be by his curse alone he will attain his object--that is, convince himself that he is a man and not a piano-key!
Edited by Cynic
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