The weariness of the long strain caught her, all at once. She slipped
forward, sat huddled, her knees crossed under the edge of the steering
wheel, her hands falling beside her, one of them making a faint brushing
sound as it slid down the upholstery. Her eyes closed; as her head
drooped farther, she fancied she could hear the vertebrae click in her
tense neck.
Her father was silent, a misty figure in a lap-robe. The rain streaked
the mica lights in the side-curtains. A distant train whistled
desolately across the sodden fields. The inside of the car smelled
musty. The quiet was like a blanket over the ears. Claire was in a hazy
drowse. She felt that she could never drive again.