Page 24:
The old men gathered At the heart of North Beach under the awning of the Diamond Mortuary. They were aware of everything, those old Italians. They watched their old buddies approach in their Cadillacs (and their enemies, too) - and they saw Dante walk around the corner in his funeral suit, home to pay his regards - and they made their remarks to each other, not in words, maybe, but in the language of the body: raising their eyebrows, digging their hands a little deeper into their pockets, thrusting forward with their groins, and turning up their mouths in wry smiles that suggested they knew it all. They knew every goddamn thing.
