The car splayed wide the gray stone wall in abrupt stop; as leisurely as July, the door swung back and slammed; dust went humming in the sun. Blood soon stopped, but other things went on— the stones began to settle in the grass, the left rear tire sighed flat; a panting farmer jumped the wall and pulled, and pulled at the bent door, and quit: the angle of the head was plain, the driver was locked in. His day-long labor lost, with nothing to do, he waited out his gasping, until, as silent as the other one, he moved his legs and left, perhaps beginning to be afraid there are not doors enough to get outside.