Mr. Raymond Chandler. He was speaking of his wife: "... For thirty years, ten months, and four days, she was the light of my life, my whole ambition. Anything else I did was just the fire for her to warm her hands at."
The comma stood there, right in between one thought and another, and he just couldn't produce a single clause to connect. And yet, he had left the sentence so open, so dangling, that he felt as if he had to finish the thought. [blue diamonds]