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“I have come up this clean-mown central hill, dark shadow out of the woods below, and have knocked politely on the high oak door, bursting its hinges and sending the shock of my greeting inward like a cold blast out of a cave: "Grendel!" they squeak, and I smile like exploding spring. (P 12)” — John Gardner
I have come up this clean-mown central hill, dark shadow out of the woods below, and have knocked politely on the high oak door, bursting its hinges and sending the shock of my greeting inward like a cold blast out of a cave: "Grendel!" they squeak, and I smile like exploding spring. (P 12)