• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 4427 0

smallness fills him like a vastness. It’s like when they heard you were great and put two men on you and no matter which way you turned you bumped into one of them and the only thing to do was pass. So you passed and the ball belonged to the others and your hands were empty and the men on you looked foolish because in effect there was nobody there.

Rabbit comes to the curb but instead of going to his right and around the block he steps down, with as big a feeling as if this little side-street is a wide river, and crosses. He wants to travel to the next patch of snow. Although this block of brick three-stories is just like the one he left, something in it makes him happy; the steps and window sills seem to twitch and shift in the corner of his eye, alive. This illusion trips him. His hands lift of their own and he feels the wind on his ears even before, his heels hitting heavily on the pavement at first but with an effortless gathering out of a kind of sweet panic growing lighter and quicker and quieter, he runs. Ah: runs. Runs.

THE END.

A Note on the Author

JOHN UPDIKE was born in 1932, in Shillington, Pennsylvania. He attended the public schools of that town, Harvard College, and the Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art, in Oxford, England, where he spent a year on a Knox Fellowship. From 1955 to 1957 he was a member of the staff of The New Yorker, to which he has contributed short stories, humorous essays, light verse, and poems. A novel, The Poorhouse Fair, was published early in 1959, and won the Richard and Hinda Rosenthal Foundation Award, administered by the National Institute of Arts and Letters. The author and his wife live in Ipswich, Massachusetts, with their three children.

Table of Contents

Rabbit,Run

Forward

1

2

3

A Note on the Author