Barry didn’t wait for the conductor’s announcement. He was at the car door before the little Connecticut village came into sight. There was a glimpse of South Street, shaded, asleep in the afternoon sunshine, and then the freight - shed interposed a blank yellow countenance. Barry shifted the light overcoat on his arm — he had wanted to put it in the trunk, but his mother, suspicious of September in the hills, had overruled him — and picked up his suit - case just as the conductor bawled past him, into the hot, dusty interior