She had a vision of all that lovely, mournful, familiar country around Kerryville, transformed into a forest of derricks, like the one near Kilgore, through which Duke had driven her at night, a few weeks ago. She had been thrilled by it all; she could still see the hundreds of black, lacy towers strung with glittering lights, the pumps throbbing like hungry hearts, the drills biting feverishly down through the rock to the fortune that lay below: for all this was "proven territory." (Family Style)
