the concept of changing the letters from i and t to other characters was impossible to grasp.
The sun was mercury-filled and it lay on the ground like a fat man. At the end of the street there was a small, sturdy girl. She was radiant like light and had divination to let her see through air. Her name was Ramona and she had spider eyes, eggs in her head. Ramona was strong and sturdy and small. She had stature, she was unborn, and her eyes slanted on her face, reminiscent of Olmecs and Manchurians. She was a very good gunslinger. Ramona had to be a good gunslinger—she had been repeating this day since the first day she had started to repeat it. It would have been preposterous to think that she suddenly could not carry out her function because this would not be the same thing that had happened all those other days with the mercury-sun and the heartburn of whiskey and the fat-man stealth of the sand.
The shoot-out would begin at twelve noon. Everyone in the town knew this, not because they had remained in a state of perpetual repetition but because it was common sense. The repetition was