Clara n me was always close. Growin up it was me for her and her for me. You probably don’t know about a thing like that, you strike as a mighty cold fish, but that’s how it was.

The exhilaration was hard to explain. It was a lonely feeling — a somehow melancholy feeling. He was outside; he passed on the wings of the wind, and none of the people beyond the brightly lighted squares of their windows saw him. They were inside, inside where there was light and warmth. They didn't know he had passed them; only he knew. It was a secret thing.

For over a long period of time there's little in life so disheartening as constant cold - not deep enough to kill, mayhap, but always there, stealing your energy and your will and your body-fat, an ounce at a time.

Cold start is a hard start.