Joelle's walk and U.H.I.D. (p. 225)
Never again a cab in four-plus years, after that. And so Joelle van Dyne, a.k.a. Madame P., surrendered, suicidal, eschews tumbrel or hack, her solid clogs sounding formal on the smooth cement down Boylston’s sidewalk past fine stores’ revolving doors southeast toward serious brownstone-terrain, open coat swirling over poncho and hanging rain breaking into stutters and drips.
Context
She's just remembered JOI, the world's best hailer of Boston cabs, and hasn't taken one in the four-plus years since his suicide. Her state named in two flat appositives planted mid-stride — "surrendered, suicidal" — and the word she walks instead of is "tumbrel," the cart that carries the condemned to execution. The prose knows exactly what kind of trip this is.