"The face of the giant was indeed that of a god...."
On that summer day the sky over New York was unflecked by clouds, and
the air hung motionless, the waves of heat undisturbed. The city was a
vast oven where even the sounds of the coiling traffic in its streets
seemed heavy and weary under the press of heat that poured down from
above. In Washington Square, the urchins of the neighborhood splashed in
the fountain, and the usual midday assortment of mothers, tramps and
out-of-works lounged listlessly on the hot park benches.
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