"For Joe, who had spent the last six years doggedly making his own way in the world, who had forged his identity on stoic self reliance, nothing was more frightening than allowing himself to depend on others. People let you down. People leave you behind. Depending on people, trusting them--it's what gets you hurt. But trust seemed to be at the heart of what Pocock said. There was a kind of absolute truth in that, something he needed to come to terms with" (237).
"Joe had been fidgety in the chair. Finally she asked him what was wrong. He'd hesitated, struggling for words, but she remembered later, the gist of it was that there was something about this race, this boat, that was different, He couldn't really explain it; he just knew he didn't want to let this bunch of boys down" (246).
"Clarence Dirks, writing for the Seattle Times, mixing metaphors with abandon, was the first to put his finger on it: "It would be useless to try to segregate outstanding members of Washington's varsity shell, just as it would be impossible to try to pick a certain note in a beautifully composed song. All were merged into one smoothly working machine; they were, in fact, a poem of motion, a symphony of swinging blades" (249).
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