Monday, February 25, 2013

Opening paragraphs.............

Charles Howard had the feel of a gigantic onrushing machine:  You had to either climb on or leap out of the way.  He would sweep into a room, working a cigarette in his fingers, and people would trail him like pilot fish.  They couldn't help themselves.  Fifty-eight years old in 1935, Howard was a tall, glowing man in a big suit and a very big Buick.  But it wasn't his physical bearing that did it.  He lived  on a California ranch so huge that a man could take a wrong turn on it and be lost forever, but it wasn't his circumstances either.  Nor was it that he spoke loud or long; the surprise of the man was his understatement.  What drew people to him was something intangible, an air about him.  There was a certain inevitability to Charles Howard, and urgency radiating from him that made people believe that the world was always going to bend to his wishes.
-Laura Hillenbrand,  Seabiscuit:  An American Legend

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