1.2.1 1.3.1 1.1.2 1.1.4 1.2.2 1.5.5 2.3.4 1.5.3 1.5.4 1.3.2 2.1.2 2.1.1 1.1.3 1.4.1 1.5.7 1.4.3 2.2.3 1.5.6 2.5.3 1.5.2 1.6.5 2.3.2 1.6.6 3.1.3 1.4.2 5.6.4 1.6.2 2.3.3 2.1.4 3.1.9 3.6.3 1.6.1 1.7.5 9.9.3 2.7.1 1.5.1 1.8.2 1.7.6 1.7.4 1.7.2 2.3.6 2.1.6 3.8.1 '.'

“Don’t worry,” he said without hearing himself. He was occupied with looking and with his own confusion of anticipation and fear. He was out of the car almost before the engine’s last asthmatic wheeze—a tall, well-built boy wearing a faded army fatigue jacket against the eight o’clock spring chill. His mother was also tall, but too thin. Her breasts were almost nonexistent: token nubs. Her eyes were wandering and unsure, somehow shocked. Her face was an invalid’s face. Her iron-colored hair had gone awry under the complication of clips that was supposed to hold it in place. Her dress hung badly on her body as if she had recently lost a lot of weight. “Ray,” she said in that whispery conspirator’s voice that he had come to dread. “Ray, listen—” He ducked his head and pretended to tuck in his shirt. One of the guards was eating C rations from a can and reading a comic book. Garraty watched the guard eating and reading and thought for the ten thousandth time: It’s all real. And now, at last, the thought began to swing some weight.

18:09 is the time I did this. Little fun fact :)