......which it was difficult to make out in the darkness. only half of it was lit by the light coming from the windows; also visible was a puddle in front of the house, which was stuck directly by the same light. rain beat noisily on the wooden roof and poured in burbling streams into the rain barrel. meanwhile the dogs went off into all possible voices: one, his head thrown back, howled so protractedly and with such diligence as though he were being paid god knows how much for it; another rapped way hurriedly, like a beadle; in their midst, like a postman's bell, rang an irrepressible treble, probably a young puppy's, and all this was crowned by a bass, an old fellow, perhaps, endowed with a stalwart dog's nature, because he was wheezing the way a basso profundo wheezes when the concert is at its peak: the tenors rise on tiptoe in their intense desire to produce a high note, and all that is there strains upwards, heads flung back, while he alone, his unshaven chin thrust into his tie, having hunkered down and lowered himself to the ground, from there lets out his note, making the windowpanes shake and rattle. from the dog's barking alone, composed of such musicians, it might have been supposed that the village was a sizable one.......... (page 48,
dead souls)
images of langston
