And here I thought Dorothy Parker was good; here’s McCarthy’s Suttree when they finally find their way back to camp:
"He lay down in his blankets. It was growing dark, long late midsummer twilight in the woods. He wanted to go down to the river to bathe but he felt too bad. He turned over and looked at the small plot of ground in the crook of his arm. My life is ghastly, he told the grass."
Wow.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology