Her hair was falling over

her shoulders in snaky

curls. Her eye was all black,

and her breasts weren't drawn

up and pointing at me,

but soft, and spread out

in two big pink splotches.

She looked like the great

grandmother of every

whore in the world.

The devil got his

money's worth that night.

James M. Cain

The Postman Always Rings Twice

1934