midday
The shape of Meta Beggs , animated with incomprehensible gestures , took its place in the procession of his memories . She , grimacing , came alike to naught , vanished . All stopped for a moment and then disappeared , leaving no trace behind . He mechanically arrested the horses before the isolated buildings that formed the midday halt . Buckley Simmons , crouching low over the table , consumed his dinner with formless , guttural approbation . The place above his forehead , where he had been struck by the stone , was puckered and dark . He raised his eyes -- the unquenchable hatred of Gordon Makimmon flared momentarily on his vacuous countenance like the flame of a match lit in the wind .