his shirt was now soaking wet , from both the rain and holding a sopping girl in his arms . chapter 8 the summer of 71 is one i remember well . `` look , i do n't have time for- '' `` where the hells did you come from ? '' `` had there been another way , i would have taken it . '' i do n't feel nervous as i walk down the aisle to the bowls , though i still have n't chosen my place . without need of rest or repair , he fairly ran up the stairs . 