Without pause he continued--right foot, left foot, right foot, left--his shoe soles shuffling and scraping along the rough stone, never lifting from it, fingers sliding along the exposed edging of brick.
Then he knew that it was time to make the attempt. Mechanically--right foot, left foot, over and again--he shuffled along crabwise, watching the projecting wall ahead loom steadily closer.
As Clare leaves, a draft sends Tom's fact sheet of yellow paper out the opened window as the door closes. For some moments he stared over his shoulder at the lighted rectangles, waiting. But, in so doing, Tom sees the street below and "a violent instantaneous explosion of absolute terror" runs through him.
There will be nothing for his wife, no money and no memories, the world will forget him, he will have nothing to show for himself. The upper window panel, he knew from long experience, was impossible to move, frozen tight with dried paint. Seconds passed, with the chill faint wind pressing the side of his face, and he could hear the toned-down volume of the street traffic far beneath him.
After laborious bending over, he grabs it. He actually would lie on the floor, rolling, clenching tufts of the rug in his hands. And he remembered how habitually, here in New York, he himself heard and ignored shouts in the night.
But he had no leverage now--he could feel that there would be no force to his swing--and he moved his fist slowly forward till he rocked forward on his knees again and could sense that this swing would carry its greatest force.
Then suddenly, the strain slackened and ended, his chest touching the window sill, and he was kneeling on the ledge, his forehead pressed to the glass of the closed window.
And a violent instantaneous explosion of absolute terror roared through him. But if the glass did not break, the rebound, flinging his arm back, would topple him off the ledge.
Should she be blamed for her crime. He was a tall, lean, dark-haired young man in a pullover sweater, who looked as though he had played not football, probably, but basketball in college. Typed rough drafts of autobiographical narratives due Monday.
It was extremely likely, he knew, that he would faint, slump down along the wall, his face scraping, and then drop backward, a limp weight, out into nothing. By a kind of trick--by concentrating his entire mind on first his left foot, then his left hand, then the other foot, then the other hand--he was able to move, almost imperceptibly, trembling steadily, very nearly without thought.
He understood fully that he might actually be going to die; his arms, maintaining his balance on the ledge, were trembling steadily now. And he remembered how habitually, here in New York, he himself heard and ignored shouts in the night.
He thought about the poker from the fireplace, then the broom, then the mop--discarding each thought as it occurred to him.
Start studying Contents of a Dead Man's Pocket. Learn vocabulary, terms, and more with flashcards, games, and other study tools.
"Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket" is a short story by Jack Finney. In this category, you can learn all about this story, from the characters and setting to the mood and theme. Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket Homework Help Questions. What is a summary of "Contents of a Dead Man's Pocket?" "Contents of a Dead Man's Pocket" is a story written by Jack Finney.
The contents of the dead man’s pocket, which happens to be the yellow paper the protagonist retrieves from the ledge, is the predominant symbol in the story.
It represents a wasted life and a life of work, among other things. "Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket" Lesson Plans and Teaching Guide It's not too late to help Tom Benecke, and it's not too late to help teachers looking for lesson plans, a summary, an analysis and more for "Contents of the.
Start studying Contents of a Dead Man's Pocket. Learn vocabulary, terms, and more with flashcards, games, and other study tools.Contents of a dead mans packets