page 37: "She wouldn't come back, and Buck was listening again to the noises of the saloon. They came as if they were part of a crowded sleep. There was the jangle of the banjo, played day and night behind the thin partition that separated the whites from the colored folks' side. The banjo was supposed to have a happy whang to draw trade, but this time of night it was about played out. It was louder where Buck stood, near the curved slot through which the bartender shoved drinks to the Negro customers. There was a slow slap of cards on the damp table top, where three men played a careful hand of poker. There was always the steady thump-thump of a dog's hind foot scratching fleas under the bar."