we all jumped-a cab with its light on skidded across the lane to us, throwing up a fan of sewer-smelling water. "Watch it!" said Goldie, leaping aside as the taxi plowed to a stop-and then observing that my mother had no umbrella. "Wait," he said, starting into the lobby, to the collection of lost and forgotten umbrellas that he saved in a brass can by the fireplace and re-distributed on rainy days. "No," my mother called, fishing in her bag for her tiny candy-striped collapsible, "don't bother, Goldie, I'm all set-" Goldie sprang back to the curb and shut the taxi door after her. Then he leaned down and knocked on the window. "You have a blessed day," he said. iii. I LIKE TO THINK of myself as a perceptive person {as
( Donna Tartt )
[ The Goldfinch ]
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