Excerpt

Kinship in a redrust boxcar. Outside the landscape was passing, silhouette and shadow show. Pine branches and scrub brush cackled as the scratched the hurried metal.

William stroked his beard, saying, "Yes, yes, I do believe so." His voice came out litling and effeminate, his attempt at a British accent. "Yes, yes, it may be that some have viewed me as a golden one, pontific and spattered with jewels, a peripatetic potentate, as it were. But," - his voice dropped to a guttural drawl - "but that ain't but fancified bullshit for womenfok and money-lenders. The foolish are easily gooled, as now as ever. They like a man with some talk in him."