They looked at each other.

He hooked each of the skinned perch through the tail.

There were two hooks attached to a leader on each rod.

There was farming country and timber each way up the road.

Nick watched his father’s hands scrubbing each other with the soap.

They sat on the blanket without touching each other and watched the moon rise.

Jim had his arm around her and every little way they stopped and pressed against each other and Jim kissed her.

Each time Nick set a heavy slab of driftwood across the butt of the rod to hold it solid and propped it up at an angle with a small slab.

There was much traffic at night and many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition on each side of their packsaddles and gray motortrucks that carried men, and other trucks with loads covered with canvas that moved slower in the traffic.

They had drifted up onto the beach and if nothing were done about them sooner or later the crew of the Magic would come along the shore in a rowboat, spot the logs, drive an iron spike with a ring on it into the end of each one and then tow them out into the lake to make a new boom.