Here's how I take my Faulkner: in a two-bit sleazy paperback. But of course, inside is the same great prose. I'm lazing my way through this one. By page 112, halfway through, I note that so far, despite the frequent presence of actual buzzing blood-sucking insects, and their symbolic human counterparts, the word "mosquito" itself is deliberately eschewed. A neat trick.
Here's some primo Faulkner descriptiveness to enjoy:
"Pete standing erect in the tender was trying to haul Jenny out of the water. She hung like an expensive doll-confection from his hands, raising at lax intervals a white lovely leg, while Mr. Talliaferro, kneeling, pawed at her shoulders. 'Come on, come on,' Pete hissed at her. The niece swam up and thrust at Jenny's sweet thighs until Jenny tumbled at last into the tender in a soft blond abandon: a charming awkwardness. The niece held the tender steady while they boarded the yacht, then slid skillfully out of the water, sleek and dripping as a seal; and as she swung her short coarse hair back from her face she saw hands, and Gordon's voice said:
"'Give me your hands.'"
"She clasped his hard wrists and felt herself flying. The setting sun came level into his beard and upon all his tall lean body, and dripping water on the deck she stood and looked at him with admiration. 'Gee, you're hard," she said. She touched his forearms again, then she struck him with her fist on his hard high chest. 'Do it again, will you?'
"'Swing you again?' he asked. But she was already in the tender, extending her arms while sunset was a moist gold sheathing her. Again that sensation of flying, of space and motion and his hard hands coming into it; and for an instant she stopped in midflight, hand to hand and arm braced to arm, high above the deck while water dripping from her turned to gold as it fell. Sunset was in his eyes: a glory he could not see; and her taut simple body, almost breastless and with the fleeting hips of a boy, was an ecstasy in golden marble, and in her face the passionate ecstasy of a child."