He turned the horse and set out along the road south, shadowless in the gray day, riding with the shotgun unscabbarded across the bow of the saddle. For the enmity of the world was newly plain to him that day and cold and inameliorate as it must be to all who have no longer cause except themselves to stand against it.
From The Crossing, by Cormac McCarthy.
It’s lines like this that make trawling through the great swathes of Spanish worthwhile.
