Babbitt roused, his stomach constricted with alarm. As he relaxed, he was pierced by the familiar and irritating rattle of some one cranking a Ford: snap-ah-ah, snap-ah-ah, snap-ah-ah. And then the dragon arrived. = Babbit
And that would've made that book thousands upon thousands of time better. I had to read it for a college class back in 2001, I think. Ugh. And I can still remember his name is George Follansbee Babbitt, of all things.
It is true that I have sent six bullets through the head of my best friend, and yet I hope to shew by this statement that I am not his murderer. It began when the dragons arrived. (H.P. Lovecraft, The Thing on the Doorstep)