Quentin had grown up with that; the mere names were interchangeable and almost myriad. His childhood was full of them; his very body was an empty hall echoing with sonorous defeated names; he was not a being， an entity， he was a commonwealth. He was a barrack filled with stubborn back looking ghosts still recovering， even forty-three years afterward， from the fever which had cured the disease， waking from the fevef without even knowing that it had been the fever itself which they had fought against and not the sickness， looking with stubborn recalcitrance backward beyond the fever and into the disease with actual regret， weak from the fever yet free of the disease and not even aware that the freedom was that of impotence. 

　　（"But why tell me about it? he said to his father that evening， when he returned home， after she had dismissed him at last with his promise to return for her in the buggy; "Why tell me about it? What is it to me that the land of the earth or whatever it was got tired of him at last and turned and destroyed him? What if it did destroy her family too? It's going to turn and destroy us all some day whether our name happens to be Sutpen or Cold field or not. 

　　'Ah，" Mr. Comp son said. "Years ago we in the South made our women into ladies. Then the War came and made the ladies into ghosts. So what else can we do， being gentlemen， but listen to them being ghosts? Then he said， "Do you want to know the real reason why she chose you?" 

　　They were sitting on the gallery after supper， waiting for the time Miss Cold field had set for Quentin to call for her. "It's because she will need someone to go with her-a man， a gentleman， yet one still young enough to do what she wants， do it the way she wants it done. And she chose you because your grandfather was the nearest thing to a friend Sutpen ever had in this county， and she probably believes that Sutpen may have told your grandfather something about himself and her， about that engagement which did not engage， that troth which failed to plight. Might even have told your grandfather the reason why at the last she refused to marry him. -And that your grandfather might have told me and I might have told you. And so， in a sense， the affair， no matter what happens out there tonight， will still be in the family; the skeleton （if it be a selector still in the closet. She may believe that if it hadn't been for your grandfather's friendship， Sutpen could never have got a foothold here， and that if he had not got that foothold， he could not have married Ellen. So maybe she considers you partly responsible through heredity for what happened to her and her family through him."） 

　　Whatever her reason for choosing him， whether it was that or not， the getting to it， Quentin thought， was taking a long time. Meanwhile， as though in inverse ratio to the vanishing voice， the invoked ghost of the man whom she could neither forgive nor revenge herself upon began to assume a quality almost of solidity permanence. Itself circumambient and enclosed by its efHuvium of hell， its aura of unregeneration， it mused （mused， thought， seemed to possess sentience， as if， though dispossessed of the peace-who was impervious anyhow to fatigue-which she declined to give it， it was still irrevocably outside the scope of her hurt or harm） with that quality peaceful and now harmless and not even very attentive-the ogre-shape which， as Miss Cold field's voice went on， resolved out of itself before Quentin's eyes the two half-ogre children， the three of them forming a shadowy background for the fourth one. 

　　……