And Roland is irresistably reminded of him and Cuthbert, in their youth, sneaking up to their fathers' rooms to try on shirts and pants and boots, such raiment as such hard men wore, stomping and posturing and eagerly awaiting the day when they, too, would be gunslingers. Would enter the service of the one who stands before him in his boots now.
And I never stepped on the cracks because I thought I'd hurt my mother
And I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under
He bows his head, ostensibly to receive her compliment.