Flags in the Dust: The complete text of Faulkner's third novel, which appeared in a cut version as Sartoris
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The complete text of Faulkner's third novel, published for the first time in 1973, appeared with his reluctant consent in a much cut version in 1929 as SARTORIS.
after gittin’ de balance of it?” “Yes you have, Simon,” Miss Jenny said. “You had a half a dollar left after I ordered those shoes for you last night.” Again Simon looked at her with pained astonishment. “Give it to ’em,” old Bayard commanded. Slowly Simon reached into his pocket and produced a half dollar and turned it slowly in his palm. “I mought need dis money, Cunnel,” he protested. “Seems like dey mought leave me dis.” “Give ’em that money!” old Bayard thundered. “I reckon you can pay
have to read it,” she said. “They never get into the papers but one way. And I know that he was somewhere he had no business being, doing something that wasn’t any affair of his.” “Yes,” Dr Peabody said. He followed her to the carriage and put his hands clumsily upon her as she mounted. “Dont paw me, Loosh,” she snapped. “I’m not a cripple.” But he supported her elbow with his huge, gentle hand until she was seated, then he stood with his hat off while Simon laid the linen robe across her
divorce from her first husband. They had a premature daughter, Alabama, who died ten days after birth in 1931; a second daughter, Jill, was born in 1933. With the eventual publication of his most sensational and violent (as well as, up until then, most successful) novel, Sanctuary (1931), Faulkner was invited to write scripts for MGM and Warner Brothers, where he was responsible for much of the dialogue in the film versions of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not and Chandler’s The Big Sleep, and
negro hostler came forth also, with a soft dirty cloth and chanting in a mellow singsong. The stallion permitted him to approach and suffered him to erase with his rag the licking nervous little flames that ran in renewed ripples under its skin. “Aint he a picture, now?” the white man demanded of MacCallum, leaning his elbow on the gate. A cheap nickel watch was attached to his suspender loop by a length of raw hide lace leather worn black and soft with age, and his shaven beard was heaviest
crossed the room and entered the alcove where her piano sat. But she had not played four bars before her hands crashed in discord, and she shut the piano and went to the telephone. Miss Jenny thanked her for her solicitude tartly, and dared to say that Bayard was all right, still an active member of the so-called human race, that is, since they had received no official word from the coroner. No, she had heard nothing of him since Loosh Peabody had phoned her at four oclock that Bayard was on his