Billy Weaver Character Analysis

But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.

Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in.

Each word was like a large black eye staring at him through the glass, holding him, compelling him, forcing him to stay where he was....

After all, she not only was harmless—there was no question about that—but she was also quite obviously a kind and generous soul.

“Well, you see, both of these names—Mulholland and Temple—I not only seem to remember each one of them separately, so to speak, but somehow or other, in some peculiar way, they both appear to be sort of connected together as well.”

He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands, and red finger-nails.

Now and again, he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person. It was not in the least unpleasant, and it reminded him—well, he wasn't quite sure what it reminded him of. Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it the corridors of a hospital?

“Left?” she said, arching her brows. “But my dear boy, he never left. He's still here. Mr. Temple is also here. They're on the fourth floor, both of them together.”

“I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea?”

The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn't much care for it. “You did sign the book, didn't you?”

But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.

Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in.

Each word was like a large black eye staring at him through the glass, holding him, compelling him, forcing him to stay where he was....

After all, she not only was harmless—there was no question about that—but she was also quite obviously a kind and generous soul.

“Well, you see, both of these names—Mulholland and Temple—I not only seem to remember each one of them separately, so to speak, but somehow or other, in some peculiar way, they both appear to be sort of connected together as well.”

He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands, and red finger-nails.

Now and again, he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person. It was not in the least unpleasant, and it reminded him—well, he wasn't quite sure what it reminded him of. Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it the corridors of a hospital?

“Left?” she said, arching her brows. “But my dear boy, he never left. He's still here. Mr. Temple is also here. They're on the fourth floor, both of them together.”

“I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea?”

The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn't much care for it. “You did sign the book, didn't you?”