Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?
How we cite our quotes:
Connie's mother kept dragging her back to the daylight by finding things for her to do or saying suddenly, "What's this about the Pettinger girl?" (9)
Connie's boring suburban life is interrupted by a hint of violence directed at women, suggesting that society has a dark underbelly.
And Connie paid close attention herself, bathed in a glow of slow-pulsed joy that seemed to rise mysteriously out of the music itself and lay languidly about the airless little room, breathed in and breathed out with each gentle rise and fall of her chest. (14)
The story never seems to let Connie experience pure pleasure without there being something sinister lurking in the shadows. Here happy words like "glow" and "joy" are mixed with the suffocating, claustrophobic image of an "airless little room."
The driver's glasses were metallic and mirrored everything in miniature. (21)
Arnold keeps his sunglasses on for much of their conversation, and Connie is disturbed by the diminished reflection of herself in them (see paragraphs 35, 36, and 55). This is Arnold's way of being in control: he is the observer, never the observed.