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“My name is Bevvuuuuul,” he said in a loud deep voice and let the tip of his tongue slide across his mouth.

“There’s one of these doctors in Atlanta that’s taken a knife and cut the human heart—the human heart,” he repeated, leaning forward, “out of a man’s chest and held it in his hand,” and he held his hand out, palm up, as if it were slightly weighted with the human heart, “and studied it like it was a day-old chicken, and lady,”… “he don’t know no more about it than you or me.”

For an instant he was overcome with surprise; then since he was moving quickly and knew that he was getting somewhere, all his fury and his fear left him.

The River.

She would of been a good woman if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.
A Good Man is Hard to Find.