It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn't think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about anything except im short burst. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear.
"That was a pretty dance, that dance that they just did," said Hazel. "Huh" said George "That dance, it was nice" said Hazel.
"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out on the sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George's neck.