| “There was nothing more to say. The slate was wiped clean. The hate was gone. Poor bastard. I became aware of the men at the bar. They hadn’t moved and were silent, their eyes following me as I walked slowly toward the western-style saloon doors and then out of the Crud Bar. Outside, high above me, a full moon, pale as skimmed milk, floated in a day sky. I felt clean, all the bone-beaked loneliness birds banished, their rocky nests turned to river stones. Cool clear water bubbled over them, streams in the desert.”
The Power of One p.513, Bryce Courtenay.